


Ice Road Truckers: Vikings Edition

by ZoeSong



Category: Ice Road Truckers, Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canadian Cabin, F/M, Ice Road Truckers - Freeform, Road Trips, Rolisla
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-12 01:18:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9049420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZoeSong/pseuds/ZoeSong
Summary: Rollo is a rough and tumble Ice Road Trucker who encounters a beautiful stranded motorist on an isolated wintry road. For the Rolisla Christmas Challenge on Tumblr, 2016.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [swimmingfox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/swimmingfox/gifts).



>   
> Disclaimer: Loosely inspired by the History Channel reality show, “Ice Road Truckers.” Guaranteed not to be historically or geographically accurate. 
> 
> Many thanks to UnderTheSkyline for her story feedback. And thanks to LaureDessine for the lovely art.
> 
> Written very rapidly over the course of a few days, with no thorough beta or surface edit aside from my own, so may be rather raw. Hope you like it anyway!  
>   
> 

~~

[](http://imgur.com/a0cx1Ry)

[](http://imgur.com/ZAykyVW)

~~

Rollo yawned, took a swig of coffee, and turned the radio up. Another fifty miles under his belt, and another 300 to go. The road since the last town was lonely, cold, and well, ice. And he was exhausted. He was trying to make up time after his radiator had gone on the fritz and he had to stop for repairs.

“Oh, oh, oh, oh, Thunder Road. Oh, Thunder Road, oh, Thunder Road…”

Rollo shook himself and tried desperately to stay alert. Ordinarily he’d have stopped for a nap in his cab bunk, but the repairs meant that he was behind and would have a trouble keeping up with his competitors. Now he sang along.

“Hey, I know it's late, we can make it if we run. Oh, oh, oh, oh, Thunder Road. Sit tight, take hold, Thunder Road…”

The CB crackled and a familiar voice came over it. “Breaker, 1-9, this is Ragnar’s Raven, looking for that Famous Wolf.”

Rollo grinned. His brother loved all that CB talk. He turned down the music. “Famous Wolf here, what’s your 20?”

“Right where we’re supposed to be. Where the hell are you? That storm is heading our way, but we should miss the worst of it if we get past the lake and north soon enough.”

“Didn’t you get my message? I had radiator troubles. I’m at least two hours behind you now.”

“Ah, geez, Loki must have it in for you.”

“Always. So you’ll have to head on without me.”

“Dang, they are saying this storm is bad – you may have to lay over somewhere.”

“Yeah, maybe so. Oh, and my cab cam is on the fritz.”

“You just can’t seem to catch a break. Well, be safe, brother, I’ll keep the coffee warm for you. And you keep an eye out for the worst of the storm.”

“10-4, Ragnar. Famous Wolf out.”

It had already been snowing lightly, but now it was getting worse and Rollo realized that Ragnar was right – he’d have a lot of difficult driving to do if he was going to outrun this storm. 

Another few miles down the road and visibility was getting more and more difficult. He was contemplating pulling over and waiting it out in his cab bunk, when a flash of red caught his attention ahead in the road. 

He slowed, thinking it must be some road worker warning motorists off the road, and was surprised to see that it was a girl, waving a red and gold scarf. She was standing beside a bright blue sports car, and it was stuck in a snowdrift. Rollo slowed the truck to a crawl, approaching her. 

She was dressed in the most ridiculously impractical outfit for the circumstances – tight ski pants and jacket, and ankle boots with heels. Her hair was braided in one long thick braid that hung to one side, and she had only a winter headband on to protect her ears from the cold. But she had an aristocratic beauty that intrigued him.

He pulled up and called across to her. “Are you crazy? What are you doing out here in that thing?” Gods, it was an Audi R8, not exactly the best car to be driving in a snowstorm. 

“Getting stuck, it seems. Can you pull me out?” She spoke with a foreign accent. It sounded French. He supposed she was French Canadian, but the ones he’d met spoke English without an accent. 

“Do I look like a tow service?”

She looked his rig over hopefully. “Surely a truck this big can move a small car?”

“Yeah, sure it could – hell, I could push it out myself by hand. But even if I did, you’d only get stuck again another few miles down the road.”

The girl frowned and glanced around her as if assessing whether he was lying or not.

“Look, the storm is getting worse. You should come with me and I’ll drop you at the next town. You can wait out the storm and get someone to bring you back here and dig out your car tomorrow.”

She looked shocked. “I can’t just leave my car here! Someone might steal it.”

Rollo laughed. “They won’t even be able to _find_ it. Hell, _you_ probably won’t be able to find it.”

She hesitated, looking at him so intently that it made him nervous. 

“Look, lady, I have a deadline and I’m already late. Either get in, or I’m moving on without you.”

“Hmmph. Very well. Let me get my things.” She quickly wound the scarf – which had a bright golden sun pattern on it, a stark contrast to the freezing winter weather they were having – around her neck. She opened her car door and pulled out a purse, which she put across her body, and then she struggled around to the back of the car to open the hatch. 

Rollo groaned, thinking someone like her would have a ton of luggage. But she only pulled out a large overnight case, then slammed the hatch down. She glanced about, and seeing that she couldn’t roll it in the snow, she picked up by the handle. It seemed heavy.

Rollo groaned and climbed out of the warm truck. He crossed the few feet of distance between them and took the case from her. 

“Thank you.” As if she had expected his help and he hadn’t been fast enough. She followed him around to the passenger side of the cab, and waited while he loaded her bag onto the bunk behind the seats. Then he stepped down to let the woman climb into the truck. She stood there for a moment staring. 

“What?”

“It’s so high.”

“There are steps, just here.” Didn’t she watch him climb? Then he realized her dilemma. In those impractical boots, she would have trouble with the steps, especially being slippery with snow. He pointed to the handlebar on the side of the cab, she took hold, but seemed lost without something to hold onto with her right hand, so he offered his. With a little help, she managed to get into the seat and settled herself somewhat. Then she looked back at him and muttered, “Thank you,” but again with that expectant look, as if he was some valet who had just brought her her car. He half expected her to give him a tip.

He slammed the door shut and started to go to his side of the truck. Then he thought of something. He walked down the road a bit, searching for a branch that would work, then jammed it into the ground in front of the woman’s car. 

He trudged back to get into the truck. The woman looked over at him. “What was that for?”

“So you can find your car later. It will be buried in snow if this keeps up.”

She glanced back out the window, and nodding, turned back. “Ah, that was very thoughtful.” Her voice this time was appreciative.

“Well, buckle in, we’re heading out.”

She grabbed at the seatbelt, but had trouble snapping it in. 

“Here, let me do that.” He snapped it in for her, and when his hand brushed her thigh, she recoiled a bit, as if he’d burned her. “Sorry.”

She said nothing, but nodded, appearing to thank him.

He turned the key and the engine – and his favorite song – roared to life. 

The girl gave a little screech, “It’s so loud!”

“Sorry!” Rollo turned the volume down, laughing to himself. "I play it loud to stay awake on the road." He put the truck in gear, checked the road, which was deserted, and now getting more heavily covered with snow, and pulled out. 

After driving for a little distance, he worked up his nerve to talk to her. She seemed very closed, and had made no attempt to talk to him. “So, what possessed you to come up here in that little car in this kind of weather?”

She gave him what seemed like a dirty look, and for a moment it didn’t seem like she would answer. But then she gave a great sigh. “My boyfriend and I were supposed to go skiing. We were going to come in his SUV which has snow tires, but he had to work today. He is to join me tonight at the chalet.”

Of course she had a boyfriend, Rollo thought. Not like he’d ever score with a girl like this anyway.

“Didn’t you listen to the weather reports? They’ve been warning about this storm since yesterday. You’re nuts to have started out in it.”

She pursed her lips in a pout. “I had a spa appointment for this afternoon, so I decided to come on my own. But I took a wrong turn somewhere.”

A spa appointment. Rollo rolled his eyes. And a wrong turn? This road was well beyond the turn-off to the ski resorts. “You should have been paying attention. You’re a long way from the resorts.”

“I was listening to music. My map app tells me where to go, but for some reason it stopped working.”

“GPS only works when there are towers close enough to send signals. Out here they are few and far between.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that.” She looked insulted, as if the people responsible for building cell towers had personally let her down.

“What’s your name, anyway? We haven’t introduced ourselves. I’m Rollo.”

“Gisla. Pleased to meet you.” But she didn’t sound pleased at all.

“Well, Gisla, what music do you listen to? Clearly you don’t like the classics.” He had turned Springsteen down and she’d still looked peeved.

She gave him a funny look. “Of course I like the classics – Beethoven, Bach, and opera, of course. Pavarotti is my favorite singer.”

Rollo tried not to laugh. He might as well be polite as they had a ways to go. “Opera, huh? I guess I don’t quite get opera.” 

“Then you have never heard ‘Nessun Dorma.’ It makes me weep every time I hear it.”

Yeah, it would probably make him weep too. “Well, I guess I haven’t.”

“Would you like to? I have it on my phone – if, well, I might plug it in?”

“Uh, sure, yeah, go ahead.” It was going to be a long ride.

Gisla connected her phone, tapped and swiped her way around her phone and found the song she was looking for. “Ah, here it is. Heavenly.”

Rollo just nodded and watched for the turn-off for the town he was dropping her at. With any luck, they’d be there before the song finished.

The song played and out of the corner of his eye he noticed that Gisla was indeed sort of weeping. At least, she was very into the music. He had to admit, it was a dramatic piece. Not his style, but he could see why people might like it. 

“Well? What do you think?”

“Sure, it’s okay.” A noncommittal response. Hopefully she wouldn’t play more of it.

Before she could say anything more, a voice came over the CB. “Breaker, breaker, Stone Man here, any wolves in the area?”

Rollo tapped the radio button. “Yeah, Torstein, Famous Wolf here.”

“I hear you had a setback. Where are you now?”

“A couple of miles out of Colton. Gotta make a stop and then I’ll be on the long haul.”

“What kind of stop? More engine trouble?”

“Nope, got a passenger to drop. Stranded motorist. Say hello to Gisla.”

“Hiya, Gisla, nice to meet you!”

“Uh, hello, Torstein.”

“Ah, Rollo, did you say _Colton_?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“There’s a bridge out over the river there, you’ll have to go around by the old road, remember?”

“Damn, that’s right. That will take at least another hour.”

“You’ll get into the worst of the storm then.”

“Yeah, right, thanks for letting me know. Famous Wolf out for now.” Rollo turned to the girl. “Look, I’m sorry about this, but I can’t afford to stop in town. I’ll get caught in that storm and not make my run.”

“You mean you will make your whole trip with me along? How far is that?”

“About 300 miles.”

“I can’t go all that way!”

“I stand to lose a ton of money if I’m late with the run, and I’ll be out of the competition.”

“Competition? What do you mean?”

“I’m an ice road trucker. We carry loads to reach remote places and they pay us well, but this run is part of a competition and those who make the most runs win a huge bonus. If I get behind, I don’t stand a chance of winning this season. I put a lot of money into outfitting the rig for winter runs, so I can’t afford to miss out on this one.”

Gisla looked forlorn. She stared out the window and appeared to be considering. Finally she sighed. “Very well. I suppose I have no choice.” 

They continued down the road well past the usual turn off for the town. Rollo switched his music back on and continued singing along to another of his favorites, Jackson Browne. His companion did not seem thrilled with this, but if she wasn’t going to talk to him, then he had to stay awake somehow.

“…Running on empty, running blind, running into the sun, but I’m running behind…”

The road narrowed and he turned off onto one of the true winter roads, the ones groomed just for the ice road truckers. Things started to get bumpy. He glanced at Gisla and she seemed shocked, but determined not to say anything.

When they hit their first major pot hole, Gisla gave a little shriek and gripped the handle over the door. “My God, do you call _this_ a road?”

Rollo laughed. “Yeah, sorry, the winter roads are kind of rough. But you know what ice road truckers say, ‘Any road, any load.’”

“I did _not_ know that.” He could see that she was gritting her teeth and hanging on for dear life.

“Sorry.” He considered. Was it worth it to make nice with her? He supposed it was. “Maybe you can teach me all about opera as a distraction.”

She looked up, rather surprised. “Really? You did not seem too interested before.” They hit another bump, and she grimaced.

“Yeah, well, it’s good to learn new things. And it passes the time.”

So, between bumps, she found more music to play for him on her iPod. It wasn’t all bad. And it was punctuated by interruptions by his trucker friends over the CB radio, filling him in on weather and road conditions ahead. So Gisla met the rest of them, Floki, Lagertha, and of course, his brother, Ragnar. 

She was polite, and asked a few questions here and there, particularly about whether the roads ahead were any better than this one, but remained mostly quiet as they bantered. She must have been listening, though, and picked up that they loved all things Norse, because after they had signed off and it was quiet for a while, she offered to play another opera piece that she thought he’d like. It was called “The Ride of the Valkyries.” Rollo liked that one and asked her to play it again. Then she played more of that opera and explained the story. It seemed to be based on a saga that was much like the Norse sagas, so he found it interesting. And it was a perfect soundtrack for the rugged road they were traveling.

They had just finished listening to “The Ride of the Valkyries” for the third time when they approached the first lake crossing. Rollo stopped and checked in with his friends who had already crossed it. Lagertha had crossed it the most recently, and she’d reported that the tests done on it prior to that showed that it was sound. 

Gisla turned to Rollo in consternation. “Lake crossing? But I don’t a see a bridge.”

“There isn’t one. The lake is frozen over and the road goes over the ice.”

“What? We are going to drive on the ice?”

“Yep. That’s how it works. The winter roads are temporary, crossing to places that are usually hard to get to even in the warm months.”

“But that can’t be safe.”

“It’s safe enough. They check the ice to be sure it’s thick enough. And it’s floating on the lake, so it has support.”

Gisla shook her head. “No, I can’t do that. I’m not going over the ice.”

“Where else you gonna go? There’s no one around for miles except ahead of us. And they won’t be back for a few days.” There were some little cottages by the lake, but they were way in the distance and would be uninhabited this time of year. They were just vacation cabins.

She looked around nervously. “I don’t know, but I won’t cross here. I can’t.”

Rollo shook his head. “You’ll freeze out there in the storm. We have to get out of here as quickly as we can, so just hang in there, it will be all right.” He put the truck in gear and started moving slowly toward where the lake road started.

“No! Let me out of here! I won’t go!” She scrambled her things together, pulling on her gloves, grabbing her purse, and pulling her coat on. 

“Calm down, I’ve done this a dozen times.”

She fumbled for the door handle and got it open. She struggled with the seatbelt.

Rollo stopped the truck. He realized she was in a panic. Helping her unbuckle, he then waited while she climbed down precariously. He was about to pull out again, when he recalled her bag in the back. “Wait!”

He reached back, got the bag, and leaned across to hand it down to her. 

She grasped it to her tightly and stepped back. “Thank you.” She just stood there for a moment, then realized she needed to close the door and stepped forward again.

Rollo spoke up. “If you want, I will wait for you at the other side. You can walk across and we can continue.”

“I won’t walk across that.”

“All right, then, good luck to you.”

She nodded, a tense look in her eyes. “And to you.” She gave the door a slam. 

Rollo wondered what would happen to her, as it was unlikely she’d find anyone else on the road or anywhere close enough to walk to. He hated to think of hearing in the news that they’d found her frozen body.

But she’d refused to come with him. So he fired up the engine again, and headed across the ice. He looked in the rear view mirror and could just make her out on the shore, standing there staring after him with her bright case in her hand. 

There was the usual creaking and groaning of the ice as he crossed. The first few times he’d done this, he found it eerie and was nervous all the way across. Now, while not completely comfortable, he was easier about it. He put the truck in low gear and kept a steady pace. 

He’d made it about a quarter of the way across when he heard it. The dreaded cracking sound. 

 

~~

 

Notes:

“Ice Road Truckers” just finished its 10th season on History Channel. The truckers do indeed drive winter roads created just for them that traverse areas of northern Canada and Alaska that are sometimes not accessible by road during the warm seasons. They cross frozen swamps and lakes, and the ice does groan, creak, and crack. This is part of the drama of the show.

"Any road, any load" – This was real-life ice road trucker Darrell Ward’s motto. He died last summer, but not driving the winter roads. He was in a plane crash en route to filming the pilot for a documentary-style show involving the recovery of plane wrecks.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Will the ice hold? Can Rollo make it? What will Gisla do if he doesn't? Or if he does?  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Thanks to all of you who read and encouraged me on the first chapter. I hope you enjoy this one as well.
> 
> Once again, this is rough and ready -- no edits, but many thanks for the story feedback from UnderTheSkyline.  
> 

~~

Gisla watched in horror as the cracking sound continued. Surely it would stop. The driver had sounded so certain that it was safe. But right before her eyes, the ice broke open under the front of the truck and began to tilt. She screamed as the truck started sliding forward.

She could see the driver side door as the truck slid. Would Rollo get out? Where was he? Finally the door opened and Rollo tried to get out. He was eyeing a smooth patch of ice a little out from where the truck was, and then he suddenly jumped. He landed on the patch, but just as he did, the truck lurched forward again, and his patch of ice stirred and tipped him into the water. Gisla screamed again. 

Forgetting her fear, she dropped her bags and raced forward to see if she could help him. She screamed again and again for help, but there was no one around. As she was running across the ice, Rollo surfaced. 

He flailed about, trying to get a grip on the edge of the ice, then saw her coming towards him. “Stop! Wait!”

She froze where she was, realizing that she was on the ice too. Would it crack here and would she go in as well? She gave a little sob. 

Rollo managed to get stay a hold of the edge of the ice. “Get something. A branch. There – see the bushes?”

Gisla turned slowly around to look where he was pointing. She nodded and headed back toward some bushes on the shore. When she got there, she pulled desperately to break a branch free. Fortunately, she found one that was loose, and it came free in her hands. She turned to see if he was watching. 

“Good, that should w–work.” His voice broke as he called. “Bring it here now.”

She did as she was told, not really thinking. But as she got back onto the ice, he yelled at her again.

“Lie down! You have to crawl across the ice. Push the b–branch ahead of you.”

She obeyed mechanically, and despite feeling the shock of cold against her body, began to creep across the distance between them. As she went, he was urging her on, praising her progress, coaxing her a little further. When she felt she was just about out of energy, she heard him cry, “Yes! You made it! Good j–job!”

She wriggled to sit up, but he immediately yelled at her to stay down. She felt him take hold of the branches, getting a firm grip, and pull. And she realized that her job wasn’t done. She had to pull him out and back to shore. 

“Go backwards, crawling, just as you did. Go on!”

It was harder this time, for she was colder and the branch was heavy with Rollo’s weight. And how to crawl backwards? But she somehow managed it, maybe an inch or two at a time, creeping ever backward to the shoreline. She could feel the coldness of the ice seeping through her thin clothing. 

She lost track of time, and her hands were becoming numb, but followed Rollo’s instructions as he continued to shout to her, his voice wavering with the cold, “Good job, k–keep going, almost out.” 

Glancing up at the seeming nearness of his voice, she could see that Rollo was now more on top of the end of the branches, and helping her to inch along to the edge of the lake. She redoubled her efforts. 

After what seemed like an eternity, she heard his voice right in her ear. “It’s okay, you can let go, we are on the shore now.”

She just lay there for a moment, wondering how he knew that, as it all looked frozen and snowy to her. But there was an urgency – and shudder – in his voice as he spoke again. “Come on, you have to get up. We’ll freeze.” His teeth chattered, and she realized that he was completely wet and really would freeze if they didn’t move. And yet somehow he was strong enough to help her to her feet, and they started to move away from the lake.

Rollo stopped for a moment, turned to look behind them, and Gisla realized that he was checking on his truck. The cab was largely sunken into the lake, but the trailer was caught between two big chunks of ice that hadn’t broken or sunk. 

She stared vacantly at it, wondering how they’d ever get it out. Rollo startled her by grabbing her hand. “Come on, we have to find shelter.” He began to pull her along. She could feel him shivering through her hand.

“Wait! My bags!” She pulled away from him to get them.

“Forget it! What does it matter?”

“One has dry clothes.”

“All right.” 

She stumbled over to where the bags where, put the purse over her head and across her body, then snatched up the case, and made her way back to him. He took her hand when she got to him, and they headed towards the sloped area where they’d entered the shoreline. Gisla wondered where they could find a house close enough. The only ones she could see seemed impossibly far around the bend of the lake.

She could hardly stand it as they staggered up the slope. The wind was biting and the snow was coming down quickly. Soon they wouldn’t be able to see at all. Would they be buried alive in the snow?

Gisla stumbled as her foot hit something uneven. 

Rollo grabbed her arm and steadied her. “You and those stupid boots.”

“I know. Please, I need to rest a moment.”

“No, there’s no time. We’ll freeze here.” He looked around again to see if there was a house, as they both had been doing, but there was nothing in sight. “Here, give me your bag.”

As he leaned down to take it from her, she noticed the ice forming on his beard and mustache, and saw how desperately he needed to get to somewhere warm. She mustered all her strength and continued on.

They walked for some distance, looking about them frequently to see if there was a house. She felt her hands and nose going numb, then stumbled yet again, and though she felt his hand steady her, she started to beg for them to stop. As she glanced up, she spotted a wooden peak that looked like the top of a house. “Look!” She pointed, unable to say more.

But Rollo must have taken new energy, for he took her hand more firmly and guided her along, half-lifting her up difficult spots, for the house was at the top of a slight hill. At last they reached the top and found the house, nestled among a thick stand of trees.

It was a rough-looking cabin – it looked more like a shed to her – but it was shelter. They staggered up to the front door and banged on it desperately. But there was no answer. 

“Oh, no. There is no one here. And no other houses anywhere near.” Gisla was ready to collapse right there on the porch. At least there was a little shelter from the wind and snow.

Rollo sat her down on her little suitcase. “Wait here.” 

She had no idea where he was going, but was grateful to sit. She lost track of time. How long had he been gone? Did he go back into the storm and get lost? Was she alone here? She scrambled to her feet to pound on the door once again. “Please, help us!”

Suddenly the cabin door opened. “Oh, thank God!” Gisla started forward, then pulled back, startled to see that it was Rollo who had opened the door. “How did you get in?”

“I found a window I could open.”

“You broke in? We will get in trouble!”

“Who cares? It’s better than freezing to death. And whoever owns this will understand. Come on, get out of the cold.” He pulled her into the cabin, set her case down beside her, then went back out to the porch.

“What are you doing? Where are you going?”

“To get wood. Shake off your clothes and boots by the door.”

She had already started to do that when he came in with an armload of firewood. He dumped it near the fireplace and headed back out. She just stood there hugging herself, shivering.

Gisla looked around the small living room. A rough stone fireplace with an old-fashioned mantel and screen. A woven rag rug on the floor in front of the fireplace, a beat up old couch, and a small table with a couple of wooden chairs around it. A window at the far end showed the snow piling up outside, and trees sheltering the cabin. There were doors at either end of the room leading somewhere, but Gisla was too cold to investigate.

Rollo stumbled in with more firewood. “See if you can find kindling.”

Kindling? She glanced about. 

“Look in that box over by the far side of the fireplace.” He went back out to the porch.

Gisla struggled to control the shivering, and walked stiffly to the fireplace. Yes, there were newspapers and old magazines in there. She leaned down to get some out, and a mouse darted across the side of the box. She jumped back with a startled scream. 

“What is it? What happened?” Rollo was back with more firewood.

“A mouse. There.” She pointed to the box.

“The least of our concerns. Come on, help me get a fire started.” His voice shook as he spoke.

She forced herself to reach back into the box, shuddering to think that the mouse might still be there. If it was, it didn’t come out when she carefully took out some paper. She heard some rustling and moved quickly away from the box.

“Good. Now, roll it and twist it so it doesn’t burn so quickly.” Rollo was piling wood onto the fireplace rack. “Bring it here.”

Gisla worked to roll the paper as he’d described, though she thought it turned out more folded than rolled. Then she closed the few steps to reach him and handed him the rolled up paper, her hands shaking. 

“Good. More.” She braved the mouse and gathered more paper, rolling it as he’d instructed. He knelt and began to stuff the paper into the spaces between the chunks of wood. “We need a lighter.” 

She looked around, but saw nothing. “I don’t see a switch anywhere.”

Rollo made a choking sort of laugh, “Switch? This isn’t a resort. A gas lighter, a little stick thing. Look up there on the mantel.” He struggled to his feet and looked about. “There!”

Gisla saw what he was pointing to at the far end of the mantel and grabbed it, passing it to him, trying to control her shaking. How could she be more cold than he was? 

He flicked at the device a couple of times and it wouldn’t light. “Damn!” His hands were shaking too. He flicked it one more time and finally it lit. “Thank God!” Then he carefully lit the paper all around the firewood. A friendly crackling sound greeted them as the paper and bits of the wood took. Rollo blew on the flames carefully and the fire began to draw. He sat back on his heels and warmed his hands.

Gisla bent beside him and put her hands near the fire as well. It felt good, but was not enough.

Rollo stood suddenly and began to peel off his clothing. He dumped his jacket and then pulled off his flannel shirt and t-shirt in one move. 

Gisla caught herself staring at him for a moment as he stood there before her, his arms and chest bare, covered with tattoos. She gave a little gasp and turned away from him. “What do you think are you doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Getting these wet clothes off. Hand me that blanket from the couch.”

Gisla glanced behind her, trying to avoid looking at him, and saw where the blanket was. She slid it off the back of the couch and handed it to him. 

Rollo wrapped it around him, sat down on the hearth and began to undo the laces of his boots. He struggled with the first one, but finally got it, and then the second. After he’d pulled his socks off, he stood up. Realizing what was next, Gisla turned away again. She heard Rollo chuckling behind her. “You should do the same. How did you get so wet?”

“There was water on the ice. And I got out of the truck so quickly that I forgot to zip up my coat.”

“Ah, sorry. Okay, you can look now.”

She turned cautiously and saw that he was sitting on the couch, wrapped up in the blanket, and his feet were propped on the hearth, toasting in front of the fire. 

“Your turn now. I won’t look.”

“There isn’t another blanket.”

“Didn’t you say you had dry clothes?”

She shook herself for her forgetfulness. “Yes, of course. I’m not thinking.”

“It’s the shock. You’ll be all right. Your case is by the door. I hope you don’t mind that I don’t get up to get it.” He grinned.

She shook her head and ignored his laugh. She retrieved it and started to lay it out on the table to find her clothes. 

“Come back to the fire – you’ll get too cold over there.”

“I’m fine right here.”

“Oh, come on, I won’t look. I’ll sit here with my head turned and my eyes closed. I promise.” He closed his eyes, turned his head, and for good measure, he tucked his head under a fold of the blanket.

She really was cold and the fire was starting to flare up nicely, so she grabbed up her case and came over to the couch. She turned her back and changed her clothes, glancing over her shoulder every so often to make sure that Rollo was keeping his word. 

When she was finished, she went to close up her case and noticed a bit of silver wrapping paper in the bottom. She slipped the package out of the case and turned to hand it to Rollo.

“Here. You should have this.”

He peered out of the blanket to see what it was. His eyebrows lifted. “A present? For me?”

“It was for my boyfriend, but you need it more. Just open it.”

He did, carefully keeping the blanket over just enough of him for modesty. As he pulled out the burgundy men’s robe, with its big fancy, monogrammed _R_ over the pocket, he expressed surprise and confusion. “Perfect, just what I needed,” he joked, saying what everyone says when they get a present. “But the monogram? What is your boyfriend’s name?”

“Roland.”

“What a coincidence.” He rose to put it on and Gisla turned her back quickly so as not to see him. “Is it his birthday or something?”

“No. He left his other one at a hotel on a business trip, so I thought I’d replace it for this weekend.”

“Lucky for me. Thanks – fits perfectly.” 

She dared to look and had to admit that it did look very nice on him. “You can have these too.” She handed him her fuzzy sleep socks.

“Don’t you need them? I’ll ruin them.”

“No, I have these others, and my slippers. Go ahead.”

He hastened to put them on and raised his eyebrows in obvious delight over their warmth. “Thanks. I guess it’s a good thing we remembered the bag after all.”

She nodded her agreement and pulled her own robe more tightly around her. He scooted over on the couch and put the blanket around her as well. Her first notion was to refuse what was a rather intimate move, but she was so cold that she leaned in and let him. It was strange to be so close to someone she didn’t know. He smelled like the outdoors, like cut wood and pine needles, or so she imagined. 

They sat for some time trying to warm themselves by the fire. Finally Rollo rose, pulling the robe tightly around himself and leaving her with the blanket. “I’m going to see what is in the other room. Maybe I can find a towel to dry my hair.”

She watched as he hurried across the room, shivering a bit as he went, and tried the door. It opened into a back room, though without following him she couldn’t tell what was in there. She heard him rummaging around a bit, then he returned with towels and blankets over his arm, and a pair of rubber boots in his hand.

“These will come in handy.” He seemed amazingly cheery considering their circumstances.

He brought the blankets over to the fireplace and draped one around her shoulders, taking the other for himself. He set the boots by the fireplace to warm up. Then he started in drying his hair. Gisla watched as he untied his man-bun and wrapped his long hair in the towel to squeeze it dry. Then he tried to comb it out with his fingers. She stared for a few moments before she realized that she was being rude – and that she could help. 

Dragging her overnight case closer, she rummaged around until she found her cosmetics bag, then slid her big comb out of the side compartment. She handed it to Rollo. “Here.”

Rollo looked up at her in surprise. “Thanks.” He eyed her bag with a grin. 

She watched him more openly now, taking in his angular, rough-hewn face. He wore his beard very full and bushy, not like Roland’s, which was always carefully groomed. And his hair fell well below his shoulders, whereas Roland kept his short and neat. “You keep your hair very long for a man. Isn’t it a lot of trouble?”

“Yes. It can be, but I have always liked it long. And it looks more authentic for battles.”

“Battles?”

“Yes, my friends and I belong to a Vikings group. We go to festivals and fight mock battles.” He suddenly put on a fierce look and roared loudly at her, waving his arms as if he would attack.

Gisla jumped back, startled, then gave a nervous laugh as he burst out laughing. “That sounds – interesting. Like a Renaissance faire?” She had seen a jousting demonstration once, but not a Viking display.

“Yes. They’re a lot of fun. We camp out and tell the old sagas around the fire. But it’s in the summer, so it’s a lot warmer than this.” He pulled his blanket a little tighter around him and shifted his feet on the hearth. 

Gisla nodded, for she too was having trouble getting completely warm. They sat quietly for a time, just trying to get warm. After awhile, Gisla murmured, “If only there was something hot to drink.”

“Well, we should be able to heat water at least. Maybe there is something else. I’ll have look in the kitchen.” Rollo looked like he hated to leave the fire, but he grabbed the boots and dragged them on over his fuzzy socks, smiling in satisfaction as they seemed to fit. He stomped out to the kitchen and she heard him opening and shutting cupboard doors. He called out to her, “We’re in luck! Do you prefer coffee or tea?”

Overjoyed, she cried out, “Tea, please!” She pictured her favorite tea, in a delicate teacup, served on a tray with honey in a little dish. She settled down to wait.

He returned fairly quickly with a pan holding mugs, spoons, and a couple of tea and coffee bags, all in a jumble, and Gisla realized they’d be making the tea over the fire. Rollo set everything out on the hearth and took the pan to the door. 

“Where are you going?”

“To get snow. We need water for the pan.”

“There is no running water here?”

“No. There is a pump, but I think the pipes are frozen.” He tugged the blanket more tightly around him, and opened the door. Gisla could feel the cold air rushing in and wrapped herself more snugly in her own blanket.

Rollo came bursting back in, nearly spilling the pan of snow. He took it over to the fireplace and set it close by. “You can start heating it. I am going to go get more snow now so we don’t have to go out again later. We will need water to drink and to cook with.” He went back to the kitchen and returned with a large pot, then disappeared out the front door with another blast of cold air.

Gisla glanced after him, a little unsure of herself. She’d never cooked over a fire before. She picked up the pan of snow tentatively and pushed it closer into the fire. A little moisture dropped into the flames and sizzled. She resisted the urge to pull her hands back. At least they weren’t cold anymore.

Rollo finished his chilly task and returned to warm himself over the fire. Shivering, he took the pan from her hand. “I’m selfish, I want to get warm faster.”

Gisla smiled to herself, glad for his “selfishness.” Soon they had hot water, and then hot tea and coffee. There was no honey, or sugar or milk, but Gisla found herself grateful for the hot liquid heating up her insides. 

“That’s better, isn’t it? Next we should see what food there might be. I think I saw some cans of food when I was looking for the tea and coffee.”

Gisla was feeling a little guilty now. She was much warmer. “Do you want me go look?”

“Nah, I have my boots and I’m feeling pretty warm now. I’ll go. Oh, and I’d better wring these out.” He scooped up his clothes and took them off to the kitchen with him. 

Gisla glanced at her own clothes, which she’d draped over one of the wooden chairs and dragged near the fireplace. She sipped her second cup of tea guiltily, then got up and dragged the other chair to the other side of the fireplace so he could drape his things there.

A few minutes later he came out. “Well, I found these.” He held up some cans triumphantly. 

“What are they?” 

“Pork and beans. Delicious, and it sticks to your ribs.”

Gisla frowned. “I can’t eat that.”

“Why not?” He looked crestfallen, as if he’d hunted and killed a meal for her and she was rejecting it. 

“I don’t eat pork.”

“What, are you a Muslim?”

“No, a vegetarian.”

“Ah.” He looked like he was trying not to roll his eyes. “Well, the beans are vegetables, aren’t they?”

Gisla grimaced. “Isn’t there anything else?”

He did roll his eyes this time. “Beggars can’t be choosers. But I’ll look.” He set the two cans of pork and beans on the hearth. “It’s getting dark, so it’s hard to see in there.” He went back in, and came out fairly quickly, his hands full of his wet clothes. “Will you lay these out while I look for food?”

She nodded and tried to look contrite, took the clothes gingerly, and began to lay them over the chair. They were still very wet. All the while she could hear Rollo rifling things around in the kitchen. Suddenly a shout came. “Eureka!” He came back out with two cans stacked together in his hand. “Pea soup. Vegetable, right?”

Gisla tried to look enthusiastic. “Yes, thank you.” Peas. Not her favorite, but she wouldn’t complain. It was something warm to eat. 

She thought he’d return to the kitchen to cook the food, but he set the cans on the hearth and returned to the kitchen. He came back with his arms full of two beat-up small pans, more spoons, a potholder, and a can opener.

“You’re going to cook the food out here too?”

“Yes, why not?”

“Not in the kitchen?”

“There’s no light, and it’s a wood stove, so we’d just have to start from scratch anyway. It’s warmer to cook here over the fire now we’ve got it going.”

He tussled with the can opener, but finally got the cans open and poured them into the pans. Handing her the pan with the soup in it, he picked up the one with the pork and beans, and held it over the fire. She held hers hesitantly near the fire. 

“No, you have to put it right in the fire. Like this.” He took hold of her hand and pushed the pan further into the fire. She was nervous of being so close to it, but did not back off. “Now stir, or it will burn. Haven’t you ever cooked anything before?”

“Not really. Certainly not over an open fire.”

“Not even s’mores?”

“What is that?”

“You don’t know what s’mores are? They are a wonderful dessert you make when you go camping.”

“You make desserts when you camp?” She tried to imagine some of the wonderful confections she’d had made over an open flame in the woods.

Rollo laughed, nearly upsetting his pan. “This one you do. You toast a marshmallow over the fire, then put it between two graham crackers with a piece of a chocolate bar. You let the chocolate melt for a few moments, and then – delicious!”

Gisla was skeptical. Graham crackers weren’t part of her culinary repertoire. “I suppose I would have to try them.”

“Too bad we don’t have some here.”

Gisla remembered something. She set the pan carefully on the hearth and reached into the side pocket of her suitcase, pulling out a small box of gourmet chocolates. “I do have these. They are Roland’s favorites.”

Rollo looked appreciative. “Another present? What else do you have in that magic bag of yours? A satellite phone would be good.”

She gave him a wry smile. “Just a few more clothes and my cosmetics.” On an impulse, she added, “I can do a makeover for you if you wish. Perhaps trim your beard?”

Rollo laughed again. “No thank you, but I might like to borrow some toothpaste later.”

“Yes, of course.” She hoped he wouldn’t ask to borrow her toothbrush as well.

Rollo tested his pan of pork and beans tentatively with a small spoonful. He reacted to the heat, but nodded in satisfaction. And began eating immediately.

“You are eating right from the pan?”

“Why not? It stays warmer that way and I can put it back in the fire if it needs more heat. And it saves on washing. Aren’t you going finish cooking yours?”

Gisla was loathe to put her hands back so near to the fire, but she picked up the potholder and heated the soup a bit more, pulling the pan back towards her to stir. 

Rollo wolfed part of his meal down, then looked at her as if she was an imbecile, and yanked the pan out of her hand. He cooked the soup expertly, then set it on the hearth. “There, let that cool a bit.”

After they’d eaten, Rollo put water into the soup pans and heated them one by one, stirring them over the fire to clean the pans. Then he went and dumped out the muck outside, then brought in more firewood. Gisla was impressed with his resourcefulness and realized that if she had been on her own she would not have fared so well even if she had been able to find this cabin.

When he came back to warm himself by the fire again, Gisla offered Rollo one of the chocolates as a reward. She thought he would wolf it down like he’d done his meal, but he nibbled at it and savored each bite. 

“Delicious! I can see why they are Roland’s favorites. We’ll save the rest for another meal.” He leaned back and sighed as he warmed his feet on the hearth. “We should probably think about sleeping arrangements. It’s going to be a cold night.” 

“Sleeping arrangements? We aren’t staying _here_?”

“It’s nearly dark. You didn’t think we’d leave again in this storm did you? Where else would we go?”

“I – I don’t know. I supposed there’d be somewhere – or someone would come.” She hadn’t really thought at all. 

He laughed. “We’re a long way from a town and everyone else will be snowed in too. Depending on how long the storm lasts, we could be stuck here for a few days.”

“Days!” The prospect of staying in this cramped, moth-eaten cabin with this uncouth, albeit resourceful man, for one night was bad enough. But days? 

 

~~

[](http://imgur.com/2g2paqc)

~~

Notes:

Ice cracking – in the actual show, Ice Road Truckers, the ice is tested regularly so the truckers are aware of whether it is safe to drive across it or not. But in the most recent episode, the season 10 finale, there was a case where the ice was not tested as recently and since the weather was warmer than usual, the truckers, driving in a convoy, decided to test it themselves. They got out an ice auger and drilled down to find that the ice was only about a foot and half thick. That was thinner than they usually drove on, so it was a riskier proposition to continue the run. They made a group “all for one and one for all” decision and decided to go. They crossed one by one, leaving some space between each vehicle, and heard cracking very early on. A big line of a crack formed along their route, and they drove with their driver side cab door hanging open so they could watch how the crack was developing. They all made it safely and expressed relief, especially the rookie driver, who was a young woman. 

They have not lost a truck to cracked ice, so my story is definitely taking license with that. 

As to whether Gisla could have rescued Rollo in such a manner, I have seen and read that it is wise to lie down on the ice and spread out one’s weight, such is described on more than one “surviving a fall through the ice” site. And as to whether people as freezing as Rollo was could make it to shelter without getting hypothermia, I cannot say, but hopefully you will turn a blind eye to my taking of poetic license in this case.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Gisla braves the cold – and Rollo – as the storm rages during the night.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Thanks for all the continued encouragement! Here is your reward. ;)
> 
> Once again, this is rough and ready –- no edits, but many thanks again for the story feedback from UnderTheSkyline.  
> 

~~

“Did you think they could clear the roads overnight?” Rollo could not believe how naïve this girl was.

Gisla slowly shook her head. “I suppose not. But they usually do in Montreal.”

Rollo chuckled. “That’s a big city – they have to keep it running. We aren’t even on a regular road. So it could be longer.”

Gisla just sat there staring at him.

“At least my friends will be wondering where we ended up – I’m sure they have been trying to contact me. And assuming they escaped the storm and made it to the destination, they will be trying to get back through. So the crews that make the winter roads will try to clear it as soon as they can.”

“My father and Roland will be worried. They have no way to know where I am. My phone won’t work here.” 

“No, and I wouldn’t waste the battery trying if I were you. Just save it until we eventually find someone who can take us out of here and when you get closer to civilization you can turn it back on.” 

Gisla nodded and gave a little sigh of resignation. “So where shall we sleep?” 

“You can take the couch.”

“The couch?” She looked incredulous – she must have thought that he should offer her the bedroom.

“It’s freezing in the bedroom. And there is no fuel for the heater.” 

A tinge of guilt appeared on her face. “Where will you sleep then?”

“On the rug in front of the fire.”

Now she looked conscience-stricken. “You must take two blankets then. I will make do with one.”

He smiled. “Thanks, but there is still a bedspread in the other room. We’ll need whatever we can find. Might as well bring it out here now so it can warm up near the fire.” He got up and went into the bedroom and brought out all the bedding to divvy up in the living room. They made up beds for each of them, and Rollo built up the fire to last as long as possible.

“Well, then, I guess I’ll get ready.” Gisla had found her cosmetics bag and headed toward the door at the end of the room. 

“What do you plan to do in there?”

“Use the bathroom, of course. Isn’t it an en suite?”

Rollo roared, answering her between laughs. “No, haven’t you figured out by now that this place isn’t that sort of house?”

Gisla just stood there looking a little foolish, and Rollo took pity on her. “You can brush your teeth using some water from the big pot in the kitchen that I filled. There is a sink in there.”

“Where do they bathe?” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Or use the toilet?”

Rollo suppressed a chuckle. “They probably bathe in the kitchen, assuming they bathe at all. I presume there is an outhouse, though I didn’t go looking for it. But I saw this under the bed just now.” He beckoned for her to follow.

He couldn’t help watching her face when she saw the “toilet.” Her mouth dropped open and she looked at him in horror. It was all he could do not to laugh at her reaction.

“What is that?”

“It’s a portable camp toilet.”

“It’s just a bucket with a toilet seat. I can’t use that.” 

Rollo couldn’t help laughing. “Well, you’re welcome to go out and try to find the outhouse, but this is clean and a hell of a lot warmer. You’ll freeze your ass off out there. Literally.”

Gisla pursed her lips and looked about in dismay. 

“Well, do you want to use it first, or should I?”

She looked disgusted at the idea of using it after him. “Where would I use it?”

“Right here. There’s nowhere else. There’s a door, so it will be private. And it’s cold enough not to smell – I’ll put the chemicals in after I’m done. Oh, and there’s some camp toilet paper.” 

He handed her the roll, and dashed out past her, and shut the door before he burst out laughing again. He knew it was rude of him, but he just couldn’t help it. The look on her face. This was a far cry from the resort she had been expecting to stay in tonight, he was sure.

A few minutes later Gisla came out. She would not look him in the eye. She went to the fireplace and started to pick up the pan of leftover heated water sitting on the hearth. Then she stopped, stared at her hands, and stood there pondering. At last she pointed to the pan and said in a solemn voice, “Will you please bring that and help me wash my hands in the kitchen?” 

He realized that she was being fastidious about hygiene, and he supposed that it was wise so they wouldn’t get sick, but it still made him chuckle. He grabbed the pan and followed her into the kitchen, amused that she still wouldn’t look him in the eye.

When she finished, she pulled out her toothbrush and gave him a sideways glance, as if he should leave. He gave her a mock bow, and ducked out. He could hear her brushing her teeth and he thought she was trying not to make a sound as she spit. It made him laugh all over again. He was half tempted to go ask her if he could borrow her toothbrush just to see the look on her face. 

When she came out, she handed him her toothpaste, still without looking at him. “I’m sorry I don’t have another toothbrush.” 

Rollo stifled a smirk as he took it from her and felt a bit like a heel for laughing at her. He supposed she was doing the best she could. And after all, she had shared her boyfriend’s robe and her own socks with him. Not to mention having helped him out of the icy water. A wave of remorse hit him in the gut. He would try to be more understanding – if he could only stop laughing.

Soon after that they settled into their respective beds. It was reasonably warm on the rug in front of the fire, and the bedspread did keep the heat in somewhat. He fell asleep wondering about his truck and whether any of it could be salvaged. It would be a while before they could even try to haul it out of there.

He awoke shivering and disoriented and with a sharp pain in his knee. He’d been dreaming about being in the ice – of going under and not being able to pull himself out, kicking his legs madly, about to go under again – and then he woke up. He rubbed his knee absently, then realized that he must have kicked it into the hearth in his sleep. 

He lifted his head up to inspect the fire. It had died down and was in danger of sputtering out. He must have slept more soundly than he’d imagined he could.

He rose and stirred up the remaining fire and added a bit more kindling and wood to it, before building it up completely. God, it was cold! As he warmed himself he glanced over to the couch and wondered how Gisla was. She only had the two regular blankets and was further from the fire than he had been, although at least she was off the floor. He turned to check on her.

Bending over her, he realized that she was shivering even in her sleep. He shook her gently. “Gisla, wake up.”

She jerked awake, startled. “What is it? What are you doing?” She pulled the blankets protectively over her, as if she thought he was going to attack her.

“You were cold.”

“How did you know?”

“Your teeth were chattering and woke me up.” 

She drew back and looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry.”

“Nah, I was just kidding. I was cold too. Even right in front of the fire. It’s a bitterly cold night not to have central heating.”

She nodded in the dim light. 

Rollo turned to stir up the fire some more. “We should sleep on the couch together – share body heat.”

“I can’t _sleep_ with you.”

“Not _sleep_ together, just sleep _together_. Next to each other. Better to live sleeping with a stranger then to die sleeping alone.”

Gisla stared at him as if he was crazy, but then a shiver came over her, and she got up, gathering one blanket around her. She stood back as he dragged the couch closer to the fire, put the bedspread over it so they could wrap it completely around them, and put all the blankets together. He climbed in first, taking the back part, lying on his side and holding up the blankets for her to join him. She looked at him for a moment, as if reconsidering, but finally lay down in front of him, also on her side.

He drew the blankets and bedspread over them, encasing her in them. He didn’t quite know what to do with his outer arm, since they were so close together. “May I put my arm here? I think it will be more comfortable for both of us.”

She answered with a hesitant muffled, “Yes,” and he rested his arm in front of her waist, trying not to touch her stomach. He’d longed to actually spoon her, but knew that she would resist such closeness. 

They lay that way for some time, and it was a little warmer than it had been on the floor, but it was still not as warm as he would have liked. “It would be even better if we were skin to skin.”

“I am not getting naked with you!” She wriggled a little away from him and for a moment he wondered if she would get off the couch and sleep on the floor herself. There wasn’t much room left since they’d moved the couch closer, but he knew that she was worried that he’d take advantage of her. 

“No, I didn’t mean that. Just my chest against your back would help. To spread body heat from the core.”

He felt that he could imagine her thoughts. She must think that he was a sleazebag. But finally, she shifted again, and he realized that she was pulling up the back of her robe and pajama top. “There. That is all I will do.”

“That will help.” 

He bared his chest and pressed his upper body against her back. She was warmer than he expected, and felt very soft and comforting. He tucked his arm back down in front of her waist carefully. 

“Don’t try anything.”

“Don’t worry. I just want us to sleep as warmly as possible.”

“And I just want to be faithful to my fiancé.”

Rollo shifted slightly. “Fiancé? But you called him your boyfriend before.”

She sighed. “I had thought we were to become engaged this weekend. Roland made all the special plans – the chalet, the spa appointment, dinner reservations at my favorite restaurant.”

“And then he chose to work instead of taking you there. What sort of boyfriend does that when he is going to pop the question?”

Gisla stiffened and pulled away from him. “He’s a good man. But my father is a harsh taskmaster.” She sounded defensive.

“Your father? He is Roland’s boss?”

“Yes, it is how I met him. He was working in the Paris office and Father asked him to come run the Montreal branch of that part of the business. So he did. We met and it was like love at first sight for both of us. I know that sounds ridiculously sentimental, but it’s true. I’m sure he did everything he could to keep our date.” 

“No doubt.” Rollo tried to sound sincere. 

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” She sounded distressed. “Let’s try to sleep.”

“All right.” He settled himself and hoped she’d relax against him again. 

She stayed where she was, but after a few moments sighed and leaned back against him. He thought she was drifting to sleep, but then she gave a shudder. 

“You are still cold?” He started to rub his hand along her side. 

“No, I am okay.” Her voice cracked as she spoke and she pulled away again. 

“You are crying.”

“No, I’m fine. Just go to sleep.”

He felt guilty. He’d teased her a lot despite realizing that this whole day was nothing but a disappointment and an ordeal to her. “Listen. I’m sorry I laughed at you earlier. I know this can’t be easy for you. But I can’t regret any of this because if you hadn’t been with me, then I’d be dead. Surely Roland will understand this situation and be proud of you for what you did.”

Gisla sniffed and relaxed a little against him. “I didn’t really think about it – I just reacted. And you told me what to do the whole time.”

“Well, you did it, though. I couldn’t pull myself out – believe me, I tried. If you hadn’t brought that branch I know I would have died. So thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

She was quiet for a time after that and he thought she’d fallen asleep. But suddenly she asked, “Did your life pass before your eyes?”

“What?”

“When you were in the water. They say one’s life passes before one’s eyes when they are going to die.”

“Ah. No. Just panic to save myself. And then I remembered to stay calm and try to just hold on.” He thought a moment. “But I do have a major regret.”

“What is that?”

“That I haven’t found the right woman yet. Or at least, that I let the right one get away.”

“Where is she now?”

“Somewhere warm, I hope. You met her, you know. Well, sort of.”

“What do you mean? How could I?”

“On the radio. Lagertha.”

“Oh, she seemed nice.”

“Yes, she is.” He thought of Lagertha’s warm smile and infectious laugh.

“Why did you let her get away?”

“My brother also liked her. Hell, everyone likes Lagertha – even the women. But Ragnar _really_ liked her, and I could tell that she really liked him, so I backed off.”

“You stepped aside for your brother? Did he know?”

“I don’t know – I never said anything and he didn’t either, but he has a way of knowing things. He’s always been a good brother to me, so I didn’t mind so much in those days.”

“Those days?”

“They aren’t together anymore. He got involved with another woman and Lagertha left him.”

“That’s awful! You must have been very angry.”

“I was.”

“But that wasn’t a second chance for you?”

“No, I couldn’t do that. Ragnar would have been upset.”

“But he was with another woman!”

“Yes, but he knew he messed up. He didn’t stop loving Lagertha. And by then I was with someone else.”

“But not anymore?”

“No.”

“What happened to her?”

“I lost her to the Ice.”

Gisla gasped. “What! She fell through the ice?” 

“No, no. The ‘Ice King,’ or just ‘The Ice’ – it’s what they call her ex. He runs a rival trucking company called ‘Ice Transit.’”

Gisla gave a sigh of relief. “So she went back to her ex-husband?”

“Yes. She was always a little dazzled by money and power.”

“Ah. Sorry.”

“Well, it wasn’t like we were going to get married or anything.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know exactly. I think neither of us was that interested in it being long term. I suppose I never really thought of her as the right one. And I’ve never found anyone else.” His stomach sank. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. We should try to sleep now.”

“Very well. Good night.”

Rollo settled his head more comfortably on the pillow and tried to fall asleep. It was cozy enough now with the fire crackling splendidly and the warmth of a woman next to him. But that was the trouble, too. Here he was, tucked up in a blanket with a beautiful woman – she felt and smelled good, it would be very tempting to make a move on her if he were a different sort of man – and she was involved with someone else. He would have to change that. His friends were always telling him that it was time for him to find someone. Maybe they were right.

Gisla stirred and he thought she was just trying to get comfortable. But her voice came in a whisper. “I hope you find someone.”

He was startled – was she reading his thoughts? “Thank you.”

He fell asleep imagining what that someone might look like. 

In his dreams she seemed to have long brown hair and a French accent. 

~~

~~

[](http://imgur.com/SXgkXL6)

~~


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Rollo and Gisla spend a day together in the cabin “roughing it.”  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Many, many thanks to UnderTheSkyline for story feedback not once, but twice on this chapter! 
> 
> Again, this is rough and ready – no formal beta or editing. Sorry it took so long – but it’s an extra long chapter, so I hope you will like it.  
> 

~~

Something disturbed Gisla’s sleep. She moved a little, for her arm was numb, but found that her movement was blocked by something. As she came more awake, she saw the fireplace before her and recalled where she was and what – or who – was preventing her from moving. An arm was wrapped over her waist, and the owner of that arm was lying behind her. 

And his skin was pressed against hers – how could she have agreed to be so intimate with a stranger? Yet she was toasty warm now as his body cocooned hers. A little too closely. He must have moved in the night. She tried to separate a little from him and was shocked to feel him tighten his arm around her and pull his legs in even closer to hers. She froze and held her breath – was he awake? Was he coming on to her? She should push him away roughly. But his breathing continued at the same pace it had before and he made no further move. Gisla relaxed and slowly allowed her body to fall against him again, feeling slightly guilty as she did – she should not feel this good with someone other than Roland. 

She could feel his breathing as his chest gently rose and fell against her back. That chest – covered with tattoos. She wondered what their design was – she had seen them, of course, but then had turned away so quickly in embarrassment, that she hadn’t really seen them. But they fascinated her. 

But they mustn’t! This was a stranger, despite what dramatic circumstances had brought them together. She should rise and see if her clothes were dry, get dressed. And do what? They were snowed in. She couldn’t go anywhere or do much of anything without this man’s help. 

So she let him sleep. And tried not to let her mind wander to how strong he seemed, how tall and ruggedly handsome. Not as handsome as Roland, of course, with his suave, polished look. What was she doing! She didn’t need to compare this man to Roland. This was a temporary situation and she would be back with Roland soon. He would propose, she would accept, and they would be married, and live happily ever after. 

She sighed and tried to go back to sleep.

“Are you awake?”

Gisla gasped, startled. “Yes, do you want me to move?”

“Well, I should get up and put more wood on the fire. And I must get up soon anyway.”

“Why?”

“I drank too much coffee last night.”

“Oh, of course.” She started to sit up. 

He chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’m not desperate yet.” But since she had moved, he started to pull himself out of their spooned position and sat up beside her at the end of the couch. “But you don’t have to get up. Might as well stay warm while you can.”

He disappeared around the couch and she heard the door to the back room open and shut. Then she heard something else and winced in embarrassment. She hoped he couldn’t hear her last night. She hadn’t heard him, but the fire had been crackling loudly at the time. She vowed to wait until he was in the kitchen to use the toilet again. She lay back down and covered her ears with the blanket. It didn’t work.

Sitting up and pulling the blankets around her to stay warm, she contemplated putting another log on the fire herself, but just as she had started to move, Rollo came out of the bedroom and starting poking at the fire. He added two more logs and stirred things up. 

“Wonder if our clothes are dry yet.” He started checking his jeans. “Damn, these are still wet.” 

Gisla got up and began to sort through hers. All were nicely dry. “Mine are fine.” She began to gather them up, laying them over the couch back. 

“How can that be? They were both equally close to the fire.”

Gisla came over to look. “Well, I wasn’t as wet as you were – just the front. But also, yours are all cotton, aside from the outside of your coat. Mine are all synthetic. Natural fibers do not dry as quickly as synthetics. We should turn them inside out so they will dry more evenly.” She started turning his flannel shirt, and moved it to the other chair to spread it out more. “I don’t know how these people can do their laundry here.”

Rollo laughed. “It’s only a hunting lodge. I don’t think the people who use it are too bothered by laundry. They are probably all men. I’m sure they mostly wear the same things every day and take it all home to wash. Most men I know can get several days out of their underwear.”

Gisla’s jaw dropped, and she glanced at the chair where she had just draped his shirt. “You might have mentioned that before I touched your clothes.”

A loud guffaw burst out of Rollo as he picked up his khaki boxer briefs and turned them inside out, waving them like a flag at her with a gleam in his eye. “Don’t worry, I promise, these were clean when I put them on yesterday.”

Averting her eyes, Gisla finished spreading out Rollo’s shirt. He laughed and when she looked back, he tossed his t-shirt to her. “Mind doing this one too?”

She caught it just in time, and shaking her head, deftly turned it inside out and laid it on the chair seat. “Too bad we don’t have any hangers, that might make it quicker to dry.”

Rollo finished turning his jeans, gave her a thoughtful look, then disappeared into the bedroom. He returned with a handful of thin metal rods. “These might work. Again.”

Gisla looked at him quizzically. 

“They are coat hangers. Well, they were. Someone bent them out to use for cooking – probably for s’mores!” He touched the ends, which were charred.

He demonstrated by poking one towards the fire. Then he pulled it back and attempted to bend it into a hanger. “It would work better if I had some pliers.” But he managed – it was crooked and bent a little funny, but it would work. He handed to her and grabbed another.

She put the t-shirt on the hanger and turned the chair around so the taller side would face the fire. Then she hung the t-shirt on the chair back. Soon Rollo had another hanger made and she hung up the flannel shirt. “If we tend them during the day, fluff them, and turn them, they should dry faster.”

They hung up the rest of the clothes, including the underwear, and Rollo stood back and observed it all with satisfaction. 

“Now for breakfast. I could eat a horse.”

“More pork and beans?”

“Unless I can find anything else.”

Gisla fluffed and aired Rollo’s coat while she listened to him rummaging in the kitchen. She heard a little exclamation of triumph, and he came out bearing a box and a bottle.

“Look! We can actually have breakfast.” It was a box of pancake mix and a bottle of syrup. “And it’s ‘Just add water.’”

“Crepes and maple. That will be delicious.”

“Nothing so fancy as crepes. Just plain hotcakes.”

“That’s just what we call them. Where will you cook them?”

“Over the fire, where else?”

She must have looked lost, for he laughed at her expression and went back into the kitchen for more supplies. He returned with a bottle of cooking oil, a frying pan and a bowl. He set everything on the table and started opening the package. 

Gisla padded into the kitchen and found the big pot of water from the night before, and brought it out. “How much water do we need?”

He dipped a cup into the water and judged it, making a guess and pouring it into the powdery batter. He stirred it briskly and took it over to the fireplace, setting it on the hearth.

Rollo poured a little cooking oil into the pan, and put the pan over the fire. When it was sizzling, he poured a little circle of batter into the pan. He tended it carefully, but it seemed to be burning anyway. 

“Oh, it’s burning! You must take it out!” Gisla looked at it and tried to hide her disappointment.

“Damn, I let it get too hot. Don’t worry, I’ll eat that one. I like things burnt. I wanted you to have the first one, but that’s okay, I’ll make another.” He flipped it over, cooked it so it was almost as burnt as the other side, then took it out. “Plate!”

Gisla grabbed up a plate and he flopped the pancake out on it.

He repeated the process and soon had made a very nicely brown pancake. He plopped it onto the plate for her, and poured another.

Gisla watched as he started cooking the next one. He turned to her. “How is it?”

“I was waiting until you were done with yours.”

“No, no, eat it now while it’s hot. Go on. There’s no way to keep them warm without burning them.”

Gisla nodded to him, and sitting on the couch with the plate on her lap, she poured a small amount of maple syrup onto the pancake. Cutting it with her fork held sideways, she took a bite. It was sheer heaven. She looked up and beamed at him, as he was watching her. “It’s very good. Thank you.”

He grinned back at her, then turned to finish cooking his own. After he’d made a few more, he joined her. They made more hot tea and coffee, and Gisla felt that she’d never had a more satisfying breakfast. 

Rollo set the big pot of water into the fire and let it heat. Then they cleaned the dishes and set them on the hearth to dry. It was odd, but Gisla felt vaguely happy to be so domestic with someone. She had stayed overnight with Roland, of course, but they’d always gone out to breakfast or ordered dinner in. This was something different.

After that they checked Rollo’s clothes again, but they were still a long way from drying. Rollo was restless. “I think I will look around and see if there is anything I missed. Maybe there are some clothes somewhere.”

He left Gisla to finish fluffing his clothes again. From the bedroom, there were sounds of cupboard doors opening and shutting.

A few minutes later, Rollo came back with a bundle of clothes. “Look what I found! They were way back in the corner of the cupboard, so no wonder I didn’t see them last night. Too bad, I could have used these.” He held what looked like adult-sized one-piece pajamas. They were bright red.

Gisla raised her eyebrows. “Nice color.”

“It’s the traditional color.”

“For pajamas?”

“No, for long johns. A lot of guys wear these for hunting. They look a little short, but they’ll be warm.”

“You’re going to wear someone else’s underwear?” Gisla was disgusted. 

“Why not? They look clean enough. And more importantly, they’re dry. These jeans look like they have seen better days, but they will do until mine dry.” He held up a very badly worn and faded pair of jeans. 

“Holes in jeans? They are right in style.” Gisla laughed and Rollo struck a mock-model pose with the jeans.

“How is my jacket? I’ll need that most.”

“Why? Are you going out? I thought you said it would be days before we could get out.”

“It will, but I thought I’d see if I could start shoveling around the house so it will be easier to get out when the time comes.”

He beckoned her over to the window, and across the little porch they could see that the snow had piled up nearly waist high.

Gisla peered out into the bleak world. “How will you ever dig a path out of here? How can you even tell where we came from?” 

“I think I know that – we came up the hill from there,” he pointed to the left, “but we turned a bit, so I think the lake is actually back there.” He pointed beyond the window and to the back of the cabin. 

Gisla pulled back from the window and looked at where he was pointing, then stared at him in amazement. She couldn’t remember turning. She had no idea which way the lake was. “You remembered that despite being so frozen yesterday?”

“Yes, I have spent a lot of time hiking and camping in the wilderness. You have to be able to orient yourself or you can get lost. My friends and I are very good at finding our way.”

“That is good. I guess I should have learned some of that before I went driving.” She walked back over to inspect his coat lining. “But I think you may be too cold to shovel, even in those borrowed clothes, without a coat. The lining is still wet.”

He sighed. “Well, I will at least put these on. It will be a little warmer than just the robe.” He shimmied around in the robe, reminding her that he had nothing on underneath. 

Gisla turned away toward the back room. “I will leave you to dress before the fire.” And she would face that crude toilet again. She sighed. It would be a long few days.

When she returned, Rollo was dressed in the red long johns and the jeans. They were baggy around the middle, and much too short, leaving a gap between her fuzzy socks and the hem. “That is a quite a look.”

“At least they are warm.” He tested out his coat again and fluffed it up near the fire. “Maybe in a couple of hours I will try to go out. Your turn.”

Gisla looked at him in surprise. “For what?”

“To get dressed, if you want to. I’ll go in the kitchen and see just how much food we really have. We may need to ration it. Holler when you are decent again.”

“Very well.” Ration the food? She hadn’t thought about whether they might run out of food. She realized that they had been lucky so far. What if it snowed again and they were stranded here for longer than just a few days?

She changed into her clothes as quickly as possible and folded away her night things. She was grateful that she hadn’t gotten completely soaked, so her clothes were all dry. Only her boots were still a little damp from trudging in the snow. She put her slippers back on since she wasn’t planning to go outside.

As she organized her things, she had a sudden realization. She dashed to her purse, rummaged around in it, and then her other bag, and her coat pockets. It wasn’t there. “Oh, no!” 

“What is it?” Rollo came out of the kitchen, concerned.

“I’ve lost my scarf.”

“Ah, it must have come off on the ice.”

“Oh, it can’t have.” Gisla stood, thinking back, trying to remember where she’d put it. Suddenly she remembered. “Oh, no. I know where it is. I took it off when it got so warm in the truck and put it in one of those little cubbies on the dashboard.” And they both knew where the truck was now. She turned away from him, upset.

“I’m sorry. I’ll replace it.” 

She whirled on him. “It can’t be replaced!” After all that happened, this was the last straw. Somehow it seemed to be all his fault.

Rollo drew back in surprise. “It’s only a scarf – I lost my whole truck!” His voice was tinged with anger.

“You couldn’t possibly understand!” Looking about for somewhere to go, her eyes landed on the front door. Storming out, she slammed it behind her. She stood there on the porch fighting tears, and shivering, because of course she had not put on her coat. 

The door opened and Rollo came out. “C’mon back in – it’s too cold out here.”

She did not turn around to face him, but nodded. “A moment, please.”

He went back in and closed the door, and she stood there a few moments longer, trying to control her emotions. And recalled his earlier words: “I lost my whole truck!” She turned slowly and headed back into the cabin.

“Come back by the fire.” Rollo was sitting on the couch, warming his feet.

Gisla came a little closer, but did not join him on the couch yet. Knowing that she needed to apologize, she searched for the right words. She took a breath. “Of course you are right. Losing your truck is a terrible thing. I cannot imagine what trouble it will cause you.” She looked up and caught his eye. “You must think me the most petty and spoiled woman ever.”

A shadow passed over his face. He shook his head slowly. “No, but I do wonder why you are so upset over a scarf.”

She swallowed hard and looked away. “It wasn’t just any scarf or I would not be. It was my mother’s – and she silk-screened it herself as young woman.” She glanced back at him. “It was special to me.”

Rollo’s face changed. “Ah. What happened to your mother?” His voice was sympathetic.

“She died of cancer a few years ago.”

He released a breath. “I’m sorry. I see why the scarf is important to you. Why–”

“I know! Why would I wear something so precious? I shouldn’t have – I should have framed it or kept it in a curio box. But I liked to wear it – it made me feel that I had a bit of her with me. When I looked in the mirror, if I squinted, I could see her.”

“I understand.” He beckoned her back over to the fireplace. “Come get warm again.”

They sat quietly for a few minutes before she spoke again. “It’s foolish really. I wore it for luck this weekend – you know, with Roland.”

“So he’d ask you?”

“I suppose. And then it would be like she would somehow know that I was happy.” Gisla tried desperately not to tear up again. Why was she baring her soul to this stranger? “You probably think that’s crazy.”

“No, not crazy – just sentimental. Most people have family things that are important to them.” He was thoughtful for a moment. “You know, that scarf _was_ pretty lucky, actually.”

“You call all of this lucky?”

“Yes, when you think about it. If you hadn’t waved that scarf on the road, I might not have seen you. What if I’d driven right on by? Where would you be now? There wasn’t anyone else on that road that I saw.”

Gisla was silent. She knew she’d be buried in her car, probably frozen.

“And if you hadn’t been with me, I would have gone down with my truck. I’d say that your mother was our guardian angel.”

Her eyes filled with tears despite all efforts. “Thank you. That’s very kind of you to say.” She wiped her eyes. “And thank you for taking such good care of me here. I know I’m rather stupid about all of this.”

“You’re welcome.” He smiled. “And you’re not stupid, just inexperienced. But this reminds me, I was checking on our food stock in there.”

“What did you find? Are we in trouble?”

“Not if you like oatmeal – I found an entire canister of it. But there are also a few more cans of pork and beans, as well as a some more cans of soup, and a couple each of chili, ravioli, and baked beans. Twelve altogether.”

“I can dilute the soup with extra water.”

“Yeah, I could do the same with the pork and beans. Hmm, and there was a box of instant rice. Oh, and a jar of spaghetti sauce, but no spaghetti. We could have the rice with spaghetti sauce.”

Gisla grimaced. But if they were stuck here, it was food. “Yes, I suppose we could.”

“And there are some matches – we could need those if the gas lighter runs out. Not that I’m going to let the fire go out. And a couple of candles, in case we want light in there or the bedroom. But we should save them for an emergency.”

“Isn’t this already an emergency?”

Rollo laughed. “Right, of course. But this place is comfortable enough, though it would be great if there was a pot-belly stove – they really put out the heat. And we have enough food for a few days, so we are in a lot better shape than we could be.”

Gisla nodded. “Then we just need to wait for the snowplow.”

“Yep. And dig far enough so we can hike down to meet it when it comes.” He glanced out the window. “Maybe in a little while I’ll give it a try to start clearing snow where our path must be. For now I will just bring in more firewood.” He got up, pulled on the rubber boots, and went out onto the porch.

After the woodpile was restored and the fire was roaring again, they sat on the couch and warmed their feet on the hearth. Rollo stretched and glanced sideways at Gisla.

“So all this time we’ve been together here and I just realized I’ve not asked you what you do. Do you work for your father?”

“No. Well, I have helped in his main office sometimes, but no, I am an artist. I have my own studio and gallery.”

“An artist? What sort of art?”

“Many sorts, but mostly painting. I love landscapes and abstracts. My favorite artists are the Impressionists and modern artists like Emily Carr and Georgia O’Keeffe.”

Rollo looked at her blankly. “Sorry, I don’t know much about art. I whittle a little, does that count?”

“Of course! I have done some mixed media pieces that included wood elements, and some sculpture at times. But I always come back to drawing and painting. What do you whittle?”

“Mostly tafl pieces.”

“Tafl? What is that?”

“Hnefatafl, a Norse board game – kind of like chess. My friends and I play it a lot at the Viking camps. So do you make a living painting?”

Gisla shifted a little. “Sometimes. I have sold some larger pieces that pay the rent.”

“But you have a gallery, you said.”

“Yes.” She hesitated. Somehow she thought Rollo would be judgmental. But it was what she did. “My father helps with that. He set me up in a building where I can have my gallery, studio, and apartment all together. I live and paint upstairs, show my work below.”

“Ah. It must be nice.” He nodded with a knowing smile. “Not exactly a starving artist then.”

“No. It was my mother’s wish that I should pursue my dream of being an artist like her. So no, I don’t have to worry if I don’t sell a painting very often. But I can also help other artists be free from the same worries.”

“What do you mean?”

“I offer them studio space and they can show in my gallery. And two of them share the spare apartment upstairs.”

“For free?”

“Not for free–”

“Ah, yes, a healthy cut of what they make when they sell paintings?”

Gisla pursed her lips. “That would be the usual arrangement. I do get a cut of their sales, but I also give them studio space for a small fee – I wanted to offer it for free, but was advised against it.”

“By your father?” He had that look again.

“No.” Why was she getting so defensive? “My mother. She was once a ‘starving artist’ as you put it. But she didn’t want charity. She said it can make a person feel dependent and beholden. Better to charge at least a small amount that they can afford until they get on their feet.”

“Ah, that’s good advice, I suppose.”

“Well, it works for me and the artists that I know. We are a happy little community. ”

“It sounds good.” Rollo seemed contemplative. “I guess you could say that about me and my trucker friends.”

“Yes, it seems that way to me. Have you known them long? Besides your brother and Lagertha, of course.”

“Yeah, we go way back. Well, Floki was Ragnar’s friend from a run he did up here years ago. He got into ice road trucking before I did. Torstein and I were school buddies. Played some hockey together. That’s how I got this.” He put his hand to his eyebrow, which was split with a scar.

“Torstein did that?”

“Well, he didn’t mean to. He got into a brawl with another player and I went to help – his stick got me on the back swing.”

Gisla’s mouth dropped open. “That’s awful! Hockey is so violent.”

Rollo laughed. “It’s a blast! Everyone I know plays – or played when they were younger. Even Lagertha – she’s small, but that woman can move on the ice. But it takes a toll on you.”

“I can imagine.”

“Didn’t you ever try it? Just for fun with friends?”

“No, not hockey. Just skating. I liked to try to cut figures on the ice. Like the original figure skaters used to do.”

“An artist even on the ice, eh?”

“I suppose so. So when did you become a truck driver?”

“My father was a trucker, and he took my brother and me with him on some runs when we got old enough. Eventually we both got jobs with the same company as my dad – so did Torstein. Ragnar got restless, invested in his own truck and started driving the ice roads – the money can be great. He kept bugging us to join him, so after awhile we did.”

“And you like it?”

“Yeah, it’s hard work, but it can be exciting.” Rollo mused. “Well, I didn’t want this much excitement. It may be months before they can pull my truck out of the lake. If they can.”

Gisla felt his loss. “What will you do without it?”

“I guess I’ll find some other kind of work for a while, or drive for a company that supplies the truck. But I’ll probably just help Ragnar or Torstein on some of their runs. I have some money saved up, so I won’t be evicted or anything.”

“Will they be able to salvage your truck?” 

“I don’t know. There will probably be a lot of damage. It might be a complete loss.” He closed his eyes for a moment, as if trying to force away the thought.

“Won’t your insurance cover it?”

“I hope so. I got additional insurance for the winter runs, so it should. But I’m not sure if it covers sinking through the ice.” 

“I hope it will.”

“Thanks.” Shifting about, Rollo suddenly stood up and stretched. “I think I’ll try doing a little shoveling for a while. At least until my feet get too cold.” He grabbed up the rubber boots and put them on over the fuzzy socks. He pulled on his coat, and snatched his gloves from their place on the hearth, and started out. 

“Wait!” Gisla snatched up her headband. “You can use this – at least your ears will be warm.”

He looked at it skeptically. “Thanks.” He put the brightly colored floral headband over his head, pushed it into place, and made a goofy grin. “How do I look?”

Gisla giggled. “I should take your picture.”

Rollo shook his finger at her. “Then I would have to kill you.”

She held her hand up. “Don’t worry, my phone is turned off.”

He trudged out to the porch, retrieved the shovel that was hanging on a nail on the front of the cabin, and headed out. 

Gisla watched from the window. He was shoveling from the porch, starting to clear an area right in front of it. All he could do was toss shovelfuls of snow up and over the mound of snow to the right. He seemed to get into a rhythm and Gisla admired how skilled he seemed. She’d never really thought about how important it might be to be good at such things. In her world, things just got done. Not that she wasn’t appreciative of employees who did their jobs well, but she’d not really thought about the skill that went into it. Realizing what a narrow existence she’d lived, Gisla watched Rollo more thoughtfully. 

When he’d made a curved path a short way from the porch, he suddenly called to her. “Come here!”

She opened the door. “What is it? Is someone there? Should I bring my things?”

“No, no, just put on your boots and coat and come out. You’ll see.”

She hurried to do as he said, wondering what he was seeing that demanded her presence. Lacking her scarf and headband, she pulled up her hood. Picking her way carefully on the path, which was somewhat soft, she made her way out to where Rollo was still shoveling. 

When she got to him, he stopped and pointed to where the sun was making an effort to shine behind the clouds and a stand of pines, creating a glowing effect.

“Oh,” she gasped, “how beautiful.” She stood beside him staring at the lovely scene. “I should have brought my sketchbook out.”

“It’s too cold. But I wanted you to see it.”

“Thank you.”

They stood together for a few minutes enjoying the changing light behind the scene. Then Rollo continued shoveling for a little further. Finally he stopped. “That’s enough. I can hardly feel my feet or hands. Back inside.”

Gisla took one last glance and then turned for the cabin. They stamped their feet to get the snow off their boots together, Rollo making it into a little dance. Gisla laughed.

Inside, they hurried to get close to the fire again, trading their coats for the blankets, warm by the fire. Rollo heated up some more water for hot drinks. 

Gisla got out her sketchbook and tried to recreate the scene from outside. 

Rollo leaned towards her and watched her sketch. “That’s very good. But of course it is, you are an artist.”

“I’m glad you like it. It’s very rough and only pencil, of course, but perhaps later I can try to capture the colors.”

Rollo nodded. Then he rose suddenly and leaned over to where his jeans were drying. He rifled through the pockets and pulled out a pocket knife. “I’m glad I didn’t lose this.” He laid it on the hearth, then went fishing through the firewood and found a small scrap. “It’s not the best for whittling, but it will do. I will probably cut myself.”

“Well, be careful. We don’t have a medical kit here.”

“What? No emergency kit in your magic bag?” 

“Well, maybe a couple of bandages.”

He laughed. “Don’t worry. I’ll be careful.”

So they sat for a while and worked on their respective crafts, and Gisla enjoyed the crackling of the fire. She surreptitiously turned to another page in her sketchbook, and while Rollo was looking intently at his work, she sketched his face. He had tied his hair up in a bun again to go shoveling, and she loved the counter balance of the bun at the back of his head and the beard hanging down below his chin. He had wonderfully expressive face, and she was trying to capture his intense look of concentration as he whittled.

Rollo went out two more times to shovel snow, breaking to get warm and have more hot coffee. Gisla joined him briefly both times, taking her sketchbook to flesh out more of the landscape. Then she went back in to brave the fireplace, where she tended the hot water and prepared the drinks. If they were here very long, she might actually get good at this, she thought.

They shared another meal cooked over the fire, and sat again by the fire, which had become the center of their existence. Gisla contemplated that this must have been something of what it was like for early settlers living in Canada, with their long, cold winters. 

Rollo had found an old checkers set in the bedroom cabinet, so they set the board on the hearth and played for a while. Each won a game, and then they started a third. 

Rollo moved a piece and then flopped back on the couch to stretch. “I can see why the Norse played a lot of Tafl. All those freezing nights snowed in. There wasn’t much else to do. Except tell the sagas.”

Gisla jumped one of his pieces. “Do you know some? Why don’t you tell me one?” She was tired of checkers, but didn’t like to admit it.

Rollo’s eyes lit up. “Sure!” He looked thoughtful for a moment, then launched into a story that made Gisla smile. She listened for a while, still smiling. He told it so enthusiastically.

“You like it?”

She nodded vigorously. 

“Why do you keep smiling that way? Do you already know it?”

She hated to spoil it for him, but was also pleased to have found something they had in common. “Yes – remember the opera piece we were listening to in your truck? ‘The Ride of the Valkyries’? That is from an opera based on the story you are telling.”

“It is? I guess I should have known that.”

“You should see it sometime – it is amazing. Well, it’s very long – part of four operas.”

“That’s a lot of operas.” Rollo looked skeptical. “But it makes sense if operas can be like the sagas themselves, going on and on.”

“That one is.”

“Well, so you already know that one. I should tell another.”

“No, you told it very well. You are a great story teller.”

“Thank you. But let’s see if you know this one.” And he began, “Thor and Loki decided to travel to Utgard, land of the giants, the enemies of the gods. Early one morning, they left in Thor’s chariot pulled by his two goats….”

By the time he was finished, Rollo had risen, was gesticulating wildly with his hands, and spoke with his voice booming as he described the huge serpent, disguised as a giant cat, that Thor had lifted up to the sky. Gisla could imagine Rollo himself as Thor lifting the serpent over his head.

“Bravo!” Gisla cried. “Bravissimo!”

Rollo grinned and took a bow. “Thank you. My pleasure.” He sat down again, still beaming, and stuck his feet up on the hearth. “That’s one of my favorites. It’s why I got one of my tattoos.”

“Oh, I was wondering about those. I only caught a quick glance.” 

Rollo hesitated only a moment, then stood up again and started unbuttoning the top of his long johns.

Gisla put up her hand to stop him. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean you had to show me–”

“No, they’re best explained that way. I’m pretty warm now, so I can.” He finished unbuttoning his top, and bared his chest and arms.

Gisla was embarrassed, but tried to look professional as she examined his _art_.

“Well, the big one along the right side here is Jorgunmandr, the world serpent. See how he twists around?” Rollo’s hand followed the tattoo serpent down along his chest and stopped just before the image disappeared under the waistband of his jeans. Gisla raised her eyes quickly and tried not to wonder just how far that image continued. 

“And these,” his hands brushed each shoulder in succession, “are the wolves, Hati and Skoll, sons of Fenrir, the Great Wolf, and they chase Mani and Sol, the moon and the sun.” He pointed to the images of the moon and sun that were on the upper area of each side of his chest. “It is said that they swallow the sun during Ragnorak, the great battle at the end of the world.”

“Ah, they are beautiful. I like the twining ribbon design. And the wolves are very fierce.”

And his arms were very muscular.

“Thank you. I’ve always liked that story, the futility of their chasing the moon and sun, and yet that they are fated ultimately to catch the sun. It’s also the reason for my CB radio handle, “Famous Wolf.’”

“Fascinating.” She could stare at the image for hours. “Um, you can put your shirt on again. You must be cold.” She tried not to blush.

He grinned at her, stood still for yet another moment, then put his sleeves in the arms of the shirt and pulled it back on. 

Rollo must have seen that she was embarrassed, for he changed the subject. “There was another design I was wondering about that also had a sun. On your scarf. Was that any particular design?”

Gisla gratefully explained. “It was. It is the Oriflamme, which means “golden flame.” It was from French history, from the ancient Franks. It was the sacred banner of the Basilica of Saint Denis – used as a battle standard when the Franks went to war. Legend says that Charlemagne carried it and that the flames would burn and drive out the enemy. The French used it in battle to inspire the troops during the Middle Ages. My mother had visited Saint Denis Basilica, heard the story, and saw some drawings of it, and it fascinated her. So she made her own.”

“Interesting. No wonder you think of it as good luck.” He looked at her with appreciation in his eyes.

“Yes.” It was a heady experience to have him looking at her that way.

“Shall we finish our game?” The checkers had been abandoned for storytelling.

“Perhaps tomorrow. It is getting late.” Not that she really knew. There was no clock, her phone was turned off, and it had gotten dark hours before.

“And I do have a lot shoveling to do tomorrow. Hopefully it won’t snow any more tonight and ruin my progress.”

They made up the couch as they had the night before, and readied themselves for bed. Soon they huddled together in their spooned position before the fire, wished each other good night, and tried to sleep. 

As she lay there, feeling Rollo’s warmth against her, Gisla suddenly thought of how nice this would be if she and Rollo were a couple. No, that wasn’t right. If it were Roland here instead of Rollo. No, that wasn’t nice – Rollo had been very kind to her. It was all so confusing. 

As she drifted off, ribboned serpents and wolves danced on a banner of red and gold and bronze.

~~

[](http://imgur.com/ZBS9rhn)

~~

Notes:

Crepes – apparently in Quebec they call pancakes crepes as well as actual crepes. I love them both! [More info here. ](https://answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20110124173516AA08JF2)

Emily Carr – a Canadian modern artist, compared [here](http://www.radford.edu/rbarris/Women%20and%20art/Carr%20and%20O'Keeffe.html) with Georgia O’Keeffe. [More here on Carr](http://www.arthistoryarchive.com/arthistory/canadian/Emily-Carr.html).

Long johns (union suit) – these were traditionally made of red flannel in the 1800s, though they are usually a cotton blend these days. While they are now more often white or gray, and most people use the two-piece shirt and pants sets now, apparently some people still like the one-piece style and the red ones are still worn by hunters. Must be tradition! There used to be a rectangular flap at the back for bathroom use, but most sold today have buttons straight down the middle back there now. Here is a review from an Amazon listing that made me chuckle:

“This was a gift for my son-in-law at Christmas as he's a hunter and asked for long johns. I think he was thrilled and he even modeled them for us! I love red one-piece long johns on a man.”[ More here](https://www.amazon.com/Red-Union-Suit-Original-Johns/dp/B000E9BG3C).

Baked beans – when I was looking up whether baked beans were common in Canada, I found discussions of whether they were served in restaurants as part of breakfast. I’d not considered that they were breakfast food, but apparently in a few places on the US east coast they are, and in parts of Canada and the UK. Here’s a selection from one site I ran across:

“I'm taking this topic north of the border, but feves au lard (the French Canadian equivalent) are often part of fry ups in Quebec, too. Also fairly common at breakfast in parts of Canada settled by Loyalists who left the States, and at pubs/B&Bs located in parts of Canada where the population traces their roots to the UK. But not too common in a typical Cdn greasy spoon.”[ More here](http://www.chowhound.com/post/baked-beans-breakfast-popular-uk-longer-popular-1014906).

Gallery commissions on art – I wasn’t sure exactly how the business side of art worked, so I looked it up. Apparently it’s quite common for galleries to take a 40-60% commission on the sale of an artist’s work, but galleries have a lot of overhead. And relationships are established between gallery owners and artists so that there is the right fit of art, artist, and gallery. [This was an interesting article](http://theworkingartist.com/how-get-art-gallery).

Getting dark early – I didn’t really mention it in the story, but it would get dark really early since it’s winter and very far north. For the real ice road truckers, they are driving mostly in the dark – because where they drive it’s so far north that there isn’t much daylight at all during the winter. I’ve been intentionally fuzzy about where this takes place because it would be unlikely that someone going on a ski trip from Montreal would run into an ice road trucker near where the winter roads are, but it’s modern AU with a geographic twist. [More here](http://www.smart-trucking.com/ice-road-trucking-jobs.html).

Pot-belly stove – according to this site, “you lose 80% of the heat in a fireplace where as you keep a lot with a stove like 60-70% retained vs lost.” [More here](http://www.survivalistboards.com/showthread.php?t=269931%20). [ Also interesting](http://www.nytimes.com/2009/01/09/greathomesanddestinations/09your.html).

Rollo’s first saga – He was telling the story of the Valkyrie Brynhildr from Wagner’s opera, Die Walküre (The Valkyrie). Gisla recognized it, being familiar with the stories in Wagner’s operas, and realized that she and Rollo had something in common. [More here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Die_Walk%C3%BCre#Synopsis) and [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brynhildr).

Jörmungandr – This is a sea serpent that is the son of the giantess, Angrboda, and Loki, the god of mischief. Odin, the father of all the gods, threw the serpent into the ocean, and he grew so large that he could surround the earth and grasp his own tail. As a result, it received the name of the Midgard Serpent or World Serpent. When it releases its tail, Ragnarök will begin. Jörmungandr's arch-enemy is the thunder-god, Thor. It is an example of an ouroboros (symbol of cyclicality). [More here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/J%C3%B6rmungandr) and [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ouroboros).

Side note: It may be that Jörmungandr is in one of Wagner’s operas as well; Wagner seemed fascinated by all of Norse mythology. I don’t really know opera and perhaps Gisla is not an expert on all the stories. I just wanted them to find something they had in common, and for Rollo to tell that story so he’d have to mention (and show) his tattoos, haha! The story that Rollo told is [here](http://www.hurstwic.org/history/articles/mythology/myths/text/thor_utgard.htm). [More about Wagner](http://www.rwagner.net/contrib/lb/e-gotterd.html).

Hati and Sköll – This particular page has comments on how there is a contradiction in the sagas as to which wolf chases the moon and which chases the sun. [More here](http://norse-mythology.org/skoll-hati/).

Bandage – Brits call it a “plaster” and Americans call it by the brand name, a “band-aid,” and according to my friend from Calgary, Canadians just say "bandage." [More here](https://uk.answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20110920021230AAz5aQu).

Whittling – there are lots of specialized knives for whittling, but it can be done with a pocket knife. There are special Kevlar gloves to wear to protect your hands from cuts, so Rollo probably uses those at home, but I’m guessing he would be trying to be historically accurate while whittling at a Viking festival. [More here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Whittling).

Oriflamme – More about the legend and history of the Oriflamme is [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oriflamme), [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Denis), and [here](http://www.xenophongroup.com/montjoie/orifl-fa.htm).


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Rollo and Gisla just may get out of their winter captivity. But they will have to brave the cold again. Do they really want to return to civilization?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Many thanks to Louhitar for sharing her first hand Lapland knowledge of snow, ice, and snowplows to help me with my research for this chapter. And thanks to UnderTheSkyline for story feedback, and to Swimmingfox for her encouraging remarks. 
> 
> This chapter was banged out much more haphazardly than the previous ones in my hurry to finish it on the last day of my vacation, and once again I have posted without formal beta or editing. Please forgive any typos or gaps that I may have missed – it is truly rough and ready.
> 
> Also, to the readers of my other fic, _The Princess and the Bear_ , which I neglected as I focused on this Christmas challenge: thanks for your patience and forbearance – sorry for the wait. I’ll be back to real life work now, so it will still be at least a week until I have time to work on the next chapter. But it’s in my head and coming along, so it is on its way!

~~

 

_Reeurh-reeurh-reeurh-reeurh-reeurh-reeurh-reeurh-reeurh-reeurh-reeurh-reeurh-reeurh-reeurh-reeurh  
Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep_

Rollo stirred. _Damned neighbor, running that thing this early._ He would have liked to have turned over, but he was wedged between two solid objects. He was too groggy to figure out why, so he just shifted a little and covered his exposed ear more tightly with the covers.

_Reeurh-reeurh-reeurh-reeurh-reeurh-reeurh-reeurh-reeurh-reeurh-reeurh-reeurh-reeurh-reeurh-reeurh  
Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep_

Rollo awoke more fully. What was that? Was he dreaming it?

“What is it?” Gisla’s sleepy voice brought him back to the here and now. The cabin. The fireplace. The girl.

“You hear it too?”

“Hear what? You moved.” She shifted a little as if to go back to sleep.

He listened to the distant sound again.

Reeurh-reeurh-reeurh-reeurh-reeurh-reeurh-reeurh-reeurh-reeurh-reeurh-reeurh-reeurh-reeurh-reeurh  
Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep

It was real. Faint – distant – and real. Definitely heavy machinery with parts squeaking in the damp weather. Could be a snowplow. Why the hell the driver thought he had to have his back-up alarm beeping out here in the middle of nowhere, Rollo couldn’t imagine. But it meant there were people coming.

“I think it’s a snowplow.”

“It has come?” Gisla lifted her head slightly as if to listen. The sound continued. “Then we should get up and get ready, should we not?”

“Yes, but there is time. They will have to test the ice as well as clear a path across it. And if they see my truck, they will put out a search for us. My friends know that the last thing I did was try to cross the lake, so there may be a search party planned already. They won’t leave the area in a hurry.”

“They will be so happy to see you. And they will be able to contact my father and Roland?”

“Yeah, they’ll get a radio message to someone who can phone them.” 

Gisla nodded and rested her head back on the pillow. They had talked about much of this before, and after that, Gisla had not mentioned again how worried her father or Roland must be, but he knew that she must have been thinking of them. 

He and Gisla had fallen into a sort of routine over the three days they’d been there. After his clothes had dried, he’d spent much of each day, in intervals, shoveling snow around the cabin and down the path towards the lake. The rest of the time was spent maintaining the fire, making meals, cleaning up, or just sitting by the fire passing the time with talk, checkers, whittling, and sketching. Now that would all come to an end. Rollo found himself regretting that somewhat. After the initial shock of losing his truck and dealing with the lack of clothing and decent heating in the cabin, he was rather enjoying their “captivity” as he jokingly called it. Gisla was interesting to talk to, and he enjoyed hearing more about her art and her travels in Europe, particularly her life in France as a young girl. Her face would become alight with enthusiasm as she spoke of the places she’d visited with her mother and how they had inspired her to become an artist.

And in turn, she seemed genuinely interested in hearing about his experiences. He told her about his childhood and some of the crazy things he and Ragnar used to do as boys trying to find adventure, as well as more about their Viking “exploits” at the festivals. She seemed to enjoy his retelling of the sagas as she was sketching by the fire. Sometimes she was so riveted that she put down her pencil and just watched and listened to him. She would always applaud and then pick up her pad and begin sketching again when he’d finished. He suspected that she might be sketching him – no doubt because there was nothing much else to sketch indoors – but she wouldn’t show him, saying it wasn’t finished yet. 

Now after spending so many days completely in her company, Rollo found himself thinking that he’d miss her. 

But first, they had to actually get out of here. The reality was that they couldn’t stay here much longer – they’d soon run out of firewood and food. And people would be looking for them, worried about them. So it was time to get ready to “be rescued.”

Just as Rollo was about to suggest that they go ahead and get up, Gisla suddenly sat up. “Oh, there is so much to do!”

“There is?”

“Yes, we must clean this place and take an accounting of everything we’ve used so we can compensate the owner for it.” She must have been lying there thinking about it.

“Well, let’s have breakfast first. And add it to the bill.” Rollo sat up too and nudged her with his elbow, eliciting a smile from her. “I think we should have oatmeal – it sticks with you better than pancakes do.” He knew she didn’t like oatmeal that much, and although she made no protest he thought he spotted a tiny quirk about the corner of her mouth.

She nodded, murmured, “Very well,” then slipped off to the “bathroom.” He would have to deal with that today – he’d dug out the outhouse yesterday, but it had been too dark finish the job and dump the contents of the emergency toilet. Not a pleasant job, but it had to be done.

Gisla returned to dry her hands by the fire, for they had taken to keeping water in the bedroom to wash their hands with – “like an old-fashioned wash basin,” Gisla had said – and then went to the kitchen to gather the ingredients for breakfast. He smiled as he watched her. Three days ago she’d been nearly helpless and now she could probably cook everything herself if he wasn’t there. As pampered and privileged as her life was, she was a fast learner in a pinch.

He took his turn in their makeshift bathroom, and when he returned, she had started heating the water for breakfast over the fire. 

They had a hearty breakfast with an extra helping of oatmeal each, made more enjoyable with the addition of maple syrup as a sweetener. They cleaned the pans and dishes together, then Rollo went out to shovel snow while Gisla began to straighten up the cabin. 

Outside, Rollo could hear the sounds of the snowplow and other engines much better now, and felt reassured that they would connect with his friends – or at least someone – soon. He’d gotten a path cleared down the worst of the little hill they’d climbed that day, so it would be a lot easier to hike down than it had been to hike up. But there was still a long way to go to get back to the lake.

Returning to the cabin, he could see through the window that Gisla sat at the little table writing on a page from her sketchpad. 

Inside again, he found that Gisla had put away all the dishes, aside from two mugs and the water pan, and hung up the towels. She looked up from her writing and smiled at him. “Almost done. There is coffee on the hearth.”

“Great, thanks.” He found that there was coffee in the mug closest to the fire, and it was still warm. He stuck it nearer the fire for a few moments to get it a bit hotter, then sat down to warm up himself. A little shiver passed over him as his body adapted to the warmth of the cabin and he thought about how good it was to come inside after a hard morning’s toil outside. And how cold it would be as they hiked out of here with possibly a cold wait by the lake when they got there. He wondered if they should stay here a little longer before setting out. But if they waited too long, it would be getting dark before they found anyone. And if for some reason they couldn’t connect with anyone, they’d have to hike back here.

“There, done.” Rollo glanced over and watched as Gisla signed the note with a flourish, then folded the paper artfully. She placed it in the middle of the table, then came over to sit with him on the couch.

“Good, then we should use the toilet one last time, then I can dump it and clean it, and wash up and get warm again before we set out. Too bad we don’t have anything warm to bring with us. If we had a thermos we could have coffee or soup along the way.”

Gisla nodded. “Or baked potatoes.”

“What?”

“When I was small, I read a story from the 1800s in which the mother made her family baked potatoes to put in their pockets to keep their hands warm when they went in the sleigh in the winter.”

“Huh. That’s a great idea.”

“But we have no potatoes.”

“No, but we have rocks.” In clearing the path from the cabin, he had hit numerous rocks. “If we clean them off and put them in the fire, we can put them in our pockets to warm us up from time to time.”

“That’s a good idea.”

“Well, you made me think of it.”

So they gathered stones of the right size and put them in the fire while they took care of the rest of the chores. Then they dressed for the hike out of there. Rollo had kept the long johns on under his own clothes, and put the borrowed jeans over his jeans for good measure. They made things bulky, but would keep him warmer on their hike. 

Gisla smiled at his ragged look, but Rollo just raised his eyebrows at her. “You should do the same. Can you add some layers?”

“I can wear tights under my pants and an extra top. Oh, and we can use these as scarves as well. I should have thought of it before.” She pulled out two more pairs of tights – one red and one blue – and draped the red one around his neck. “So it will coordinate with your long johns.” 

Rollo was impressed with her creativity. “More tricks from your magic bag.” He struck a pose and twirled the end of the tights around like he was doing a strip tease, making Gisla laugh. He had come to love her laugh.

She rooted around in the little suitcase. “I suppose I shall have to leave it here. It will only burden us. I will put a few small things in my purse, and I can leave the rest behind.” 

He could see that she was a little reluctant, but was trying to do the right thing. He admired her for it, but it wasn’t necessary. “No, you may need your night things wherever you stay tonight. Do you need your belt?”

“What?”

“To hold your pants up -- do you need it, or is it just for decoration? I want to make a strap for your bag.”

“Ah, I see.” She slipped the belt off and handed it to him. Then she delved into the bag and pulled out another fancy belt. “Would a second one help?”

“Yes.” Rollo fashioned a makeshift strap and slung the bag over his shoulder, a little like a quiver. “That will work.”

She smiled at him and he felt ridiculously proud of himself. Like a knight in shining armor being chivalrous to the princess. 

Finally they were dressed and ready to set out. They warmed themselves by the fire one last time, then Rollo extinguished it. He had thought of just banking it in case they would need to return here after all, but decided it was safer to put it out and start a new fire if they had to return. They locked the door behind them and headed out to the porch.

On the porch, Rollo retrieved the shovel, and handed Gisla another surprise.

“What is this?”

“A walking stick. It might make things easier with those boots of yours.” It was only a tree branch that he’d smoothed slightly with his pocketknife.

She looked embarrassed, but thanked him and grasped the stick firmly. And they started out. The first part of the hike was a breeze since Rollo had made a decent path. 

They made good time down the path to lower ground. Then Rollo had to start shoveling again. Every so often they would stop and warm their hands on the stones in their pockets. Then Rollo would make another few yards of pathway for them. 

It took several hours of shoveling, hiking, slipping here and there, stopping, warming, then repeating it all over again. They were encouraged by the sounds of machinery – at one point Rollo thought he heard the sound of the ice auger and kept his fingers crossed that the crew would find somewhere to cross. 

As they continued, sometimes voices carried their way. They shouted back from time to time, but could not tell if the voices ever responded to them or not. But finally they came into view of the lake. 

Rollo stopped and the severity of things hit him all over again. He could see the shape of his truck, the front half submerged into the lake, the back half perched on the ice, just recognizable as it was heaved up slightly and covered with snow and ice. 

He heard Gisla gasp as she caught up with him. She put her hand lightly on his shoulder. They stood staring at the half-sunken truck for what seemed like hours.

But then there came a shout from across the lake. It was too far for him to see who it was, but they shouted and waved back a few times. There was a crew testing the ice a great distance beyond where his truck was trapped, and the snowplow was waiting behind it for the crew to give the word. If it was safe, they’d make a path that steered wide of where his truck was.

Gisla turned to him and gave him a hug. “We’re saved!”

Surprised at her affectionate form of congratulations, Rollo hugged her back. “Well, it may still be a while – it looks like they are just testing the ice now. And no one has come from our direction yet. The storm may have been worse on this side of the lake.”

Gisla released him and shrugged. “But they are here. We have only to wait.” She stamped her feet, as if in anticipation.

Rollo nodded, not wanting to douse her enthusiasm. The truth was, if the ice wasn’t safe, the plow and any other vehicles would have to find some way around the lake, which could take the rest of the day or longer. He and Gisla might have to hike back to the cabin for another night. At least there was a pathway now. 

As there was still quite a distance to cover for them to reach the shoreline, Rollo decided they might as well continue at least down that far. It would keep them warm to keep moving, and give the workers time to find a route across the lake. 

By the time Rollo and Gisla got down to lakeshore, it seemed that the workers had decided that the lake was frozen sufficiently to cross. The snowplow got to work again, and worked its way slowly and methodically across the ice.

Gisla sat on her suitcase with her hands in her pockets and watched with interest and trepidation, asking now and then if the creaking and groaning they heard was normal. Rollo reassured her, but recalled the noise he’d heard just before the horrible cracking sounds that fateful day. He stamped about trying to keep warm, trying to see if the ice looked sound – and glancing behind to see if his brother and friends were following the snowplow. He thought could just make out one of the trucks across the lake.

Finally, the snowplow made it across the lake and started up the shoreline slope. Rollo and Gisla headed down to greet the operator as he came to a stop. He rolled down his window and shouted over the noise of the plow. “You wouldn’t be Rollo, would you?” 

“Yep, that’s me. We’ve been waiting for you.” Rollo reached his hand up to shake hands with him.

“You’ve got a bunch of people worried about you back there.” The operator pointed with his thumb back over his shoulder. “Go around and get in, and we’ll radio them.”

Rollo and Gisla gratefully complied, and soon were in the warm cab of the snowplow, squeezed together in the passenger seat listening while the radio was jammed with the voices of Rollo’s brother and friends all cheering that he was found alive and well. It made Rollo’s heart swell to hear their good wishes.

Ragnar informed them that there had been news that someone transmitted by radio that a woman had gone missing in the snowstorm in an area not far from the route that Rollo had taken here. Ragnar and their friends had put two and two together and figured it must be Gisla, so they radioed back what information they had about where she had been at the start of the storm and that they would be searching for both Rollo and Gisla when the weather broke and they could get through.

“Can a message be sent to my father to let him know that I am all right?” Gisla’s voice was both excited and worried.

“10-4, I’ll get right on it.” Ragnar’s voice was reassuring. “It may take a while to relay the message, but it will get through.”

“Thank you so much!” Gisla’s voice was warm with gratitude.

The snowplow driver gave them some hot coffee, and invited them to stay in the snowplow cab as he continued plowing a path up their side of the lake and beyond. They chattered happily with Rollo’s friends on the radio until the first truck – Ragnar’s – started to cross the lake. Then everyone fell quiet as they watched or listened for progress. Ragnar reported now and then, and Rollo strained to see out the window to catch glimpses of his brother’s truck as it progressed across the lake. Beside him, Gisla was pressing her hands together in worry. 

Finally Ragnar’s truck made it. Everyone cheered on the radio and in the cab, including the snowplow driver. He stopped to let Rollo and Gisla out, and they went down to meet Ragnar, who came bounding out of his truck and embraced Rollo fiercely. “Bro, you are back from the dead!” 

Rollo hugged him back, moved to see how warmly his brother greeted him. “Not quite. Odin passed me by.” Then, remembering that they were not alone, he wrested himself free of Ragnar and pointed to Gisla. “Or rather, Hlín was watching over me. Here’s the one who saved my life.”

“A miracle.”

They walked over to where Gisla stood, tears in her eyes, clearly joyful to witness their reunion. Ragnar gave her a bear hug as well, and thanked her profusely for saving Rollo’s life. She blushed, but hugged him back.

Then they got Gisla’s bag from where they’d left it at the edge of a snowbank, and piled into Ragnar’s truck. Rollo hopped into the bunk area behind the seats, tossing Gisla’s bag ahead of him. Gisla, looking a little guilty about it, rode shotgun. Then Ragnar moved the truck up the slope and onward, following the snowplow, but giving him enough distance for his needed back and forth routine to clear the path. When there was enough clearance for the rest of the trucks in the convoy, Ragnar stopped the truck and they watched the other trucks’ progress and continued to chat with each of them via radio.

One by one the trucks made it across the lake safely, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief. The trucks pulled up behind each other and the friends had a brief group reunion before heading out again. Ragnar, Torstein, Lagertha, and Floki were all there. There was a lot of hugging, back-slapping, and banter. 

Rollo noticed that Lagertha had turned to Gisla and gave her a warm hug too, telling her, “I’m glad to see you safe and well.”

Gisla was gracious with her, as she’d been with everyone. Rollo was glad to see Gisla drawn into his circle of friends, even if only for a few minutes. 

“Rollo says that it was you who saved him from drowning. We are all so grateful – and proud of you. How brave you are!”

Gisla shook her head. “No, I’m not very brave at all. I was very frightened and Rollo shouted at me what to do.”

“But you did it. That’s brave. Courage under pressure.” Lagertha looked as proud as if she had taught Gisla how to rescue someone herself. Rollo recalled all the reasons why he had liked Lagertha, and realized that they were all still true, her generosity being one of the strongest.

Now the crews of the chase cars had caught up with the trucks and Rollo realized that they were filming the reunion. He ignored them, as usual, as they were supposed to do if they were filming something spontaneous, until one of the producers approached Gisla. She had drawn away a little when she had seen the cameras, and Rollo hoped they wouldn’t bother her too much.

“Grisella, isn’t it? We want an interview with you as well as Rollo.” The field producer had cornered Gisla against a snowbank.

Gisla tried to back away. “No, please. I am not part of this. I was just a passenger.”

“But it’s such an exciting story – we’ll want to include it in the episode we’re filming.” The man was anything if not persistent. “Can you tell us how you survived? How you have managed these past few days after falling into the lake?”

“I didn’t fall in the lake, Rollo did. I just helped him to get out.”

“Right, that’s what we need. What with the recording and photos and an artist’s rendering of what happened, we’ll have plenty for this segment of the show. In fact, we heard that you are an artist, so maybe you’d like to do the drawings yourself!”

Rollo saw that Gisla was becoming overwhelmed, so he intervened. “Odo, stop please. She’s been through a lot and obviously doesn’t want to talk to you right now.”

“But you’ll corroborate that recording, right? We can use it.”

Rollo glanced at Gisla and saw the consternation on her face. “No, you can’t use it. She doesn’t give her permission.”

“But it was in your cab, it is part of our contract.”

“She isn’t part of your contract. She was stranded by the side of the road and might have died in the snowstorm if I didn’t stop. That doesn’t give you the right to put pressure on her to be in the show if she doesn’t want to.”

“Aww, come on Rollo, you know you wanted a bigger part. This is stuff the viewers will eat up. A stranded motorist becoming your guardian angel, pulling you out of the drink?”

“Look, Odo, you do all sorts of creative editing for other episodes, you can do it for this one. Use whatever you have of me, but leave her out of it.” The producer looked as if he was going to argue some more, so Rollo headed him off. “You know, Odo, her father is the head of a big corporation. I’m sure his lawyers can outspend yours if it comes to a lawsuit.”

Odo backed off and eyed Gisla. “Well, you know, think it over. A little publicity never hurt anyone.”

Rollo rolled his eyes, but nodded. “Sure, we’ll think it about it.”

The producer turned his attention to the filming of the half-sunken truck and interviewing Rollo’s friends for their reaction to it. Rollo turned to Gisla and saw the relief in her eyes. 

“Thank you. I’m not sure if I want that sort of publicity.”

“You may not be able to avoid it, after what Ragnar’s told us. If it’s been in the news that you were missing, your return will be a big deal.”

“I guess we shall see. I just hope that I can speak to my father before the news learns of this.”

Rollo reassured her as best he could, then it was time to get the trucks moving again. Rollo and Gisla rode with Ragnar, who had agreed to take Gisla to the rendezvous point where they hoped Gisla’s father and Roland would meet them. There would be lodgings there, at least, so it was somewhere she could stay. In the mean time, they passed the time recounting their story to Ragnar, who had turned off his cab cam for privacy.

An hour or so later, a message came through on the radio that Roland and Charles, Gisla’s father, had gotten the relay and would be there. They settled in to cover the miles, Ragnar turning up the radio to his favorite music, which was much the same as Rollo’s. Rollo grinned as Gisla nodded along to the music, seeming much more appreciative of it then when she’d ridden with Rollo before. So he’d rubbed off on her a bit. Rollo stretched out on the bunk and was half tempted to invite Gisla to come take a nap with him back there, just to see her reaction. They were used to cramped sleeping quarters after all. But he resisted, knowing that that she would be embarrassed now that they were back in “civilization.” Or nearly so. And he felt that pang of regret again that it was all coming to an end. 

He wondered what Gisla’s father would be like. Would he be emotional over the return of his daughter, or formal and businesslike? And Roland, would he sweep Gisla off her feet or was he too cool to show his feelings in public? Rollo dozed, imagining a handshake with Roland turning into a brawl.

“Bro! We’re here!” Ragnar’s announcement jolted Rollo awake. He hadn’t thought he’d really fall asleep, but he’d done a hell of a lot of shoveling and had been more exhausted than he’d realized.

Sitting up, he glanced through the window, half expecting to see Gisla’s people standing there in front of the truck staring up at them. But he saw that Ragnar had stopped the truck at the far end of the parking lot of the restaurant where they’d agreed to meet, and that they would have to watch for them. Beside him, Gisla was looking out the window intently. Suddenly, she gave a little squeal. “There! There they are!” 

A gold SUV was making its way through the rows of cars. It stopped near the truck and two men got out. 

Ragnar went around to help Gisla down. Rollo grabbed the suitcase and handed it to Ragnar before jumping down himself. He was just in time to see Gisla enfolded in the embrace of a graying man in a dark wool overcoat. This must be Gisla’s father. A dark-haired bearded man stood beyond them, waiting, an expectant look on his face as he watched them. 

As Gisla’s father released her, Gisla gave a little glance back to Ragnar and Roland, before turning to Roland for a much more subdued embrace. Rollo wondered why she didn’t seem more excited to see him, though it seemed that Roland was genuinely happy to see her again. Rollo supposed she was shy of showing too much affection in front of them all, particularly her father. Maybe she was embarrassed about how intimate the two of them had been forced to be in the cabin. 

Gisla slipped away from Roland and made the introductions. “This is my father, Charles, and my boyfriend, Roland. And this is Rollo, who helped me survive all these days, and Ragnar, his brother, who has driven me all this way.”

Greetings were exchanged and thanks and congratulations given all around, Charles being most gracious as he shook Rollo’s hand with both of his, repeating, “thank you, thank you,” over and over. He didn’t seem like a high-powered businessman, but Rollo couldn’t fault him for being worried about his daughter and relieved and grateful to find her again, safe and sound.

Ragnar suggested they all get out of the cold and go into the restaurant and have a meal, but Roland, glancing at the place, begged off, saying it was late and they’d better get back on the road. Charles seemed to agree, wanting only to be near his daughter, so Gisla gave Rollo and Ragnar an apologetic look. She thanked Ragnar again for sending the messages and for driving so far out of his way for her sake. Ragnar reassured her that it was no trouble, and handed off her suitcase to Roland, who went to put it in the trunk of the SUV. 

Gisla watched Roland for a moment, then turned to Rollo. Shyly, she took his arm and pulled him gently down towards her, gave him a light kiss on the cheek, whispering in his ear, “Thank you for everything.” She squeezed his arm briefly as she pulled away, smiling.

Rollo, surprised, tried to answer back. “Uh, yes, sure, of course. But really, thank _you_.” They stood for a moment staring, their eyes saying more than their words could.

Then Roland came back and put his arm around Gisla to escort her away. They all said their goodbyes, and Charles, Roland, and Gisla got into the SUV.

Rollo watched them start to drive away, his feelings confused. As the SUV turned in front of them, Gisla flashed him a smile and a wave. He lifted his hand in reply, and then she was gone. Just like that.

Ragnar’s voice came through the haze. “Well, she seemed like a great girl. Too bad she’s taken.”

“Yeah, I seem to have a knack for that.” Rollo stared after the SUV until it was out of sight. Then he turned to his brother. “C’mon, let’s go in. I could eat a horse.” 

 

~~

 

Epilogue

 

Gisla sighed. She was not quite satisfied with the placement of this particular piece. It was part of a series she’d been working on all spring and was showing in her gallery. She should be happy because she’d just sold one piece in the series, but something was not quite right. There was a strange little emptiness insider her these days. 

She should have been making wedding plans; that was what she thought she would be doing this summer. But though Roland had been making hints, she had realized that he was not the one after all, and had tried to let him down gently. Now there was this void, a listlessness that she’d not felt before. At first she’d attributed it to being single again, but when she thought of Roland, she did not have any regrets or yearnings. So she had poured her energy into her work.

She finished placing the piece and decided to go to lunch early. Just as she slipped into the back room to get her purse, the bell on the gallery door tinkled. When she didn’t hear her assistant respond, Gisla went to see to their visitor herself.

A tall man stood in the center of the main room, looking all around at her latest exhibit. The light was focused on the paintings, so she could not quite make out if she knew him or not.

“Bonjour. Bienvenue à la galerie.” 

He turned around sharply. “Thank you.” Her heart gave a funny little leap. It was Rollo.

“What a surprise. What brings you all this way?” He looked good – taller and more handsome than she’d remembered. There was a warm look in his eyes.

He seemed lost for a moment, as if he hadn’t meant to come in. Then as if he’d suddenly remembered, he pulled a small package from his jacket pocket and offered it to her. “I just wanted to bring you this.” It was wrapped in brown paper, tied with plain string.

“A present?”

“Of a sort. Open it.” His eyes twinkled as he handed it to her.

“It’s so light.” She untied the string and unwrapped the paper. A flash of red peeked out. Then she removed the rest of the paper. She gasped. Her scarf! She looked up at him, tears in her eyes. “How? I thought it was lost in the truck.”

“It was still right where you said it would be. It was a little damaged, but I had it professionally cleaned and it seems to be okay.”

“It’s wonderful – thank you!” She draped it around her neck and beamed at him, resisting the urge to hug him. “But for you to come all this way – you could have shipped it.”

“No, I wanted to put it into your hands personally. And to see your face.” He grinned.

She gave him another big smile. “That is so kind. Oh, but it means you got inside the truck. You were able to pull it out of the lake?”

“Yeah, they hauled it out. A few things were salvageable, mostly just some personal items from the cab, but the truck is pretty much a loss after being soaked and frozen like that.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. Did your insurance pay for it?”

“Most of it. But as it turned out with all the publicity I got from what happened, the TV production company covered the rest of the loss so I’ll be able to replace the truck, with a little to spare.”

“That’s wonderful.”

“Oh, and I tracked down the owner of that cabin and tried to pay him for the supplies we used.” Rollo gave her a stern look. “He said that you had already paid him more than amply for them.” He shook his head at her in mock anger, then smiled. “Seriously, I was happy to pay my share.”

“Well, I knew that in the circumstance you might have financial issues for a while, so I went ahead. After all, I had a windfall as well.”

“Oh?”

“My colleague sold some of my work – there was much interest when everyone thought I might be dead. She even sold a series of my unfinished sketches, _The Four Seasons_. She got three times what I would have sold them for if I had finished them.”

“Wow! And what did the buyers say when you turned out to be alive?”

“A reporter asked me that question as well. So I told her that I would be donating at least half of the proceeds to charity in the names of the buyers. So no one has contacted me with a complaint.”

“That was genius.”

“I didn’t want anyone to think that I had used what happened to us as publicity for my work. That is not what my art is about. Though it seems to have generated interest anyway. One buyer keeps making offers on this one, for instance, but I haven’t decided that I am ready to sell it yet, so I keep saying that it is unfinished.”

Rollo looked to where she was pointing. It was a winter scene – the view they’d seen from the cabin that first day they’d dug out. There was a man with a snow shovel in the scene. It looked a lot like Rollo. “I like it. But that guy with the shovel photo-bombed your landscape.”

Gisla laughed. “No. He is the focus. See, he is the one enjoying the scene, we are just looking over his shoulder. It is called, ‘Daybreak.’”

Rollo nodded slowly. “Very clever. Although I wasn’t up at daybreak shoveling.” 

“No, but after being so long in the cabin, it felt like daybreak when we did get out.”

They walked around the gallery, looking at all her recent pieces, most of which had a wintry theme. Rollo admired them all, but kept coming back to the first one. “Perhaps I will have to buy this one – if I can afford it.” He chuckled.

“I will give you a signed print.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“It would be my pleasure. You were the inspiration for it, after all.”

He grinned, perhaps a bit embarrassed. He looked around again, as if trying to think of what to say. When he finally turned back to her, he pointed to her left hand. “I don’t see a ring.”

Surprised at the abrupt change of subject, Gisla glanced down at her empty ring finger. “No. It did not seem right after all.”

“But I thought it was love at first sight.”

“Perhaps it was. But I changed. Somehow it wasn’t a lasting love.” 

He nodded. Was there a faint smile about his lips?

“What about you? Did you find the right woman yet?”

He did not answer right away, but just looked at her. “Yes, I think I did.” Gisla felt a little sinking in her stomach. 

“But you are not with her?”

“Not yet.”

Gisla swallowed, determined not to be selfish. “Well, don’t let her get away this time.”

He smiled. “I won’t.” He stood staring at her for a moment, as if not quite sure what to say. Gisla suddenly took hope. Perhaps he was trying to work up the courage to say something particular?

And why should he have to have all the courage? She must take a chance. “I was just about to go to lunch. Would you like to join me?”

His eyebrows raised as if he was surprised. She thought for a moment that he would refuse. And then he grinned. “Very much.” He offered her his arm. 

She took it. And somehow, the emptiness wasn’t there anymore.

 

~~

Notes:

Heating rocks (or potatoes) to warm hands – this can actually be done, although you need to be careful since the rocks can really be hot (see [here.](http://www.instructables.com/id/Rock-hand-warmer/)) And I recalled this passage in Laura Ingalls Wilder’s book, _Little House in the Big Woods:_ "Ma slipped piping hot baked potatoes into their pockets to keep their fingers warm . . . " while they rode in their sled with warmed flatirons at their feet and covered in blankets, quilts, and buffalo robes, quoted [here.](http://museumofthegrandprairie.blogspot.com/2014/02/getting-warmer-mystery-artifact-revealed.html) _  
_

Banking a fire – to secure it overnight so it can be flared up in the morning. I didn’t have Rollo do this because they needed the fire to burn during the night. There would be a danger of a spark leaping out of the fireplace and causing a house fire, but since they were right there and could presumably put it out, they didn’t do this. There was a screen, as well. Just because I found it interesting, [here](http://www.ehow.com/how_6050210_bank-ashes-fireplaces.html) is how to bank a fire. And [here](http://www.ehow.com/how_4843466_put-out-fire-fireplace.html) is how Rollo put out the fire.

Shoveling snow – I did not use this, but Rollo would have, since he is so knowledgeable. [Here](http://www.wikihow.com/Shovel-Snow) is how to safely and efficiently shovel snow. 

CB radios in snowplow – Just to be sure that snowplows would have radios, I looked and found [this.](http://www.snowplowforums.com/forums/7-off-topic/421-cb-radio.html) They do indeed.

Odin is called the “all-father” of Norse gods. He is the god of many things, including death.

Hlín (pronounced LEAN) is the Norse goddess of consolation. She is one of Frigg’s handmaidens, and Frigg sends her to protect those whom she wants kept safe.

 

 

 


End file.
